chilled gravy, was the fat, stringy end of the steak. The sight of
it was enough for Miss Carson; and she declined the offered
delicacy.

"There's bread." She took a slice from a fresh baker's loaf; and
spread it with some oily-looking butter that remained on one of the
butter plates. It was slightly sour. By forcing herself, she
swallowed two or three mouthfuls. But the remonstrating palate would
accept no more.

"Isn't the coffee good?" asked Mrs. Lowe, with a sharp quality in
her voice, seeing that Miss Carson did not venture upon a second
mouthful.

"I have very little appetite this morning," was answered, with an
effort to smile and look cheerful.

"Perhaps you'd rather have tea. Shall I give you a cup?" And Mrs.
Lowe laid her hand on the teapot.

"You may, if you please." Mary felt an inward weakness that she knew
was occasioned by lack of food, and so accepted the offer of tea, in
the hope that it might prove more palatable than the coffee. It had
the merit of being hot, and not of decidedly offensive flavor; but
it was little more in strength than sweetened water, whitened with
milk. She drank off the cup, and then left the table, going, with
her still wet feet and skirts to the sewing-room.

"Rather a dainty young lady," she heard Mrs. Lowe remark to the
waiter, as she left the room.