alarm. Selfish, cold-hearted and indifferent to all in a social
grade beneath her, this lady was not quite ready to stand up in the
world's face as one without common humanity. The way in which Mrs.
Wykoff was presenting the case of Miss Carson on that stormy
morning, did not reflect very creditably upon her; and the
thought--"How would this sound, if told of me?"--did not leave her
in the most comfortable frame of mind.

"I hope she's not sick. I'm sure the thought of her being wet never
crossed my mind. Why didn't she speak of it herself? She knew her
own condition, and that there was fire in the kitchen. I declare!
some people act in a manner perfectly incomprehensible." Mrs. Lowe
spoke now in a disturbed manner.

"Miss Carson should have looked to this herself, and she was wrong
in not doing so--very wrong," said Mrs. Wykoff. "But she is
shrinking and sensitive to a fault--afraid of giving trouble or
intruding herself. _It is our place, I think, when strangers come
into our houses, no matter under what circumstances, to assume that
they have a natural delicacy about asking for needed consideration,
and to see that all things due to them are tendered_. I cannot see
that any exceptions to this rule are admissible. To my thinking, it
applies to a servant, a seamstress, or a guest, each in a just
degree, with equal force. Not that I am blameless in this thing. Far
from it. But I acknowledge my fault whenever it is seen, and
repenting, resolve to act more humanely in the future."

"Where does Miss Carson live?" asked Mrs. Lowe. "I came to make the
inquiry."