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“But
don’t make much noise about it, do you understand? Good. Now I must
be going.”
     
    * * *
     
    Mrs. Meade mounted the stairs to the second
floor above Benton’s dry-goods store and rapped at the closed door.
After a moment, the sound of a woman’s footsteps approached from
within and Diana Lewis opened the door.
    “Good afternoon, Miss Lewis,” said Mrs.
Meade. “I have a question for you—some work I would like you to
help me with. May I come in?”
    Diana Lewis gave a deferential nod and stood
aside for her to enter, and Mrs. Meade stepped into the room. It
was a pleasant place, with long windows admitting the sunlight
through the branches of a tall tree just outside. A sewing-machine
stood in the corner, and by the windows were a sofa and several
chairs for the accommodation of clients. At the far end of the room
a door stood ajar, offering a glimpse of the workroom in back and
the couch that could be made up into a bed at night.
    Mrs. Meade had paused and stood looking at a
white silk dress that was displayed on a mannequin near the end of
the front room. The beautiful, intricate beaded embroidery on the
yoke was nearly finished; there remained only some finishing
touches on the sleeves and the flounces on the skirt to
complete.
    Diana Lewis shut the door and waited with her
hands folded in front of her. She was a slim, dark girl, with a
rather pretty face, but with the tired eyes and faded complexion
that spoke of ill health and much time spent indoors. But in spite
of any infirmity she was an exquisite seamstress. Charity
Bradford’s was the first wedding-dress she had made in Sour
Springs, and half the female population had already manufactured
errands to her shop in hopes of catching a glimpse of its
progress.
    Mrs. Meade turned away from contemplating it.
“I would like your advice on a pattern, Miss Lewis,” she said. “You
see, the daughter of a dear friend of mine is going to be married
soon, and I want to send her a gift. She will have so many nice
things, so I would like it to be—not something large, but special.
I was thinking of—a shawl. Something like that lovely embroidered
brocade shawl of yours would be just perfect. May I look at
it?”
    “Yes, of course,” said Diana Lewis, after
what might have been just a second’s pause. “I can make up a
pattern for you to follow, Mrs. Meade. It’s very simple,
really—”
    “Oh, but I would like to look at your shawl
before I begin—the embroidery on the edges is so lovely, I would
like to see what stitches you used. It won’t take a moment.” She
smiled in such a happy expectant way that Diana Lewis could not
help smiling slightly herself, though she did not seem wholly
pleased. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Meade, but—I don’t believe I have it here
this morning.”
    Mrs. Meade’s eyes grew innocently wide, in
what a sharp observer might have recognized with amusement as an
excellent imitation of Mrs. Henney. “Why, I don’t believe I have
ever seen you without it in the summertime. You wear it here to
your work every day, don’t you?”
    “Really, this once I must have forgotten it.
I’ve left it at home. But that is no difficulty; I can make up the
pattern for you when I go home and send it to you in a few
days.”
    “But there’s no time like the present!” said
Mrs. Meade brightly. A happy thought seemed to strike her, and she
fairly clasped her hands with pleasure. “Why not let me go to your
boarding-house and fetch it for you now? I have errands to run,
and—”
    “No—Mrs. Meade, please don’t trouble
yourself,” said Diana Lewis. She twisted her thin hands tighter
together.
    “Oh, it’s no trouble! I—”
    “Mrs. Meade, please—I would much rather you
did not.”
    She stopped, conscious of her words having
fallen rather loud and abruptly in the stillness that followed
them.
    Mrs. Meade gave her a penetrating look. All
her affected lightness of manner had gone. “Because it is not at
your boarding-house,