"I expected you half an hour ago," said the lady, in a coldly polite
way, as Miss Carson entered her presence.

"The morning was dark and I overslept myself," was the only reply.

Mrs. Lowe did not remark upon the condition of Mary's clothing and
feet. That was a matter of no concern to her. It was a seamstress,
not a human being, that was before her--a machine, not thing of
sensation. So she conducted her to a room in the third story,
fronting east, against the cloudy and misty windows of which the
wind and rain were driving. There was a damp, chilly feeling in the
air of this room. Mrs. Lowe had a knit shawl drawn around her
shoulders; but Mary, after removing her bonnet and cloak, had no
external protection for her chest beyond the closely fitting body of
her merino dress. Her feet and hands felt very cold, and she had
that low shuddering, experienced when one is inwardly chilled.

Mrs. Lowe was ready for her seamstress. There were the materials to
make half a dozen dresses for Angela and Grace, and one of the
little Misses was called immediately, and the work of selecting and
cutting a body pattern commenced, Mrs. Lowe herself superintending
the operation, and embarrassing Mary at the start with her many
suggestions. Nearly an hour had been spent in this way, when the
breakfast bell rang. It was after eight o'clock. Without saying
anything to Mary, Mrs. Lowe and the child they had been fitting,
went down stairs. This hour had been one of nervous excitement to
Mary Carson. Her cheeks were hot--burning as if a fire shone upon
them--but her cold hands, and wet, colder feet, sent the blood in
every returning circle, robbed of warmth to the disturbed heart.