Lane, with a touch of bitterness in her
voice--"and to such strangers."

"If you mean about the money, ma'am," said Mrs Jenkles, in the same
uncompromising manner, "I don't; I meant something else."

Mrs Lane directed an imploring look at her daughter, and the girl
hastily took up her work, as did her mother, and stitched away.

"That may have been weak, and it may not," said Mrs Jenkles, who took
in everything. "It all depends."

"It was a most generous act," said Mrs Lane, in a low, pained voice,
"and will bear its fruit. But you will sit down?"

Mrs Jenkles seated herself on the very edge of her chair, bolt upright,
while Mrs Lane drew out a well-worn purse, took from it half a
sovereign, and laid it upon the table.

"I am ashamed to offer you so little of it back," said Mrs Lane, "but
it was all we could get together in so short a time. You shall have the
rest--as we can make it up."

"Thanky," said Mrs Jenkles, shortly; but without attempting to touch
the coin.

There was a pause then, only broken by that weary sound of hard
stitching, which tells of sore fingers and aching eyes.

"How much more have you got in that purse?" said Mrs Jenkles, shortly.

A faint flush of resentment appeared in the mothers face, and the
daughter darted an angry look at the speaker. But it died out in an
instant, as with a sad, weary action, Mrs Lane reopened the purse, and
shook out two more coins beside the half-sovereign upon the table.

"Two shillings," she said, faintly; "it is all."

Mrs Jenkles sat very still, and the stitching went on like the ticking
of two clocks, measuring out the short span of the workers' lives.

Mrs Jenkles's eyes were busy, and she saw, as they went over the room,
how shabbily it was furnished, how thinly mother and daughter were
clothed, how pale and weary was their aspect, while the girl's eyes were
unnaturally bright.

At last Mrs Jenkles's eyes caught sight of a little white corner in one
of the compartments of the open purse, and she gave a hysterical gulp.

There was a heap of thick cloth work lying on the table between the two
women--the one coarse, unrefined, but comfortably clothed and fed, the
other refined and worn to skin and bone--and this heap covered Mrs
Jenkles's actions as she rose, walked to the table, and then, without a
word, went out of the room.

"Has she gone?" whispered Netta, as Mrs Jenkles's retreating footsteps
were heard.

"Yes," said Mrs Lane, with a w