And there, in the little sewing-room of St. ——’s she sat, one Thursday morning, as much alone as if around her there were not twenty ladies or more talking socially together, and all unmindful of the stranger in the midst, poor little Kitty, who actually started in surprise when she heard herself addressed by a pleasant-faced, elderly woman, who sat near her, and who seemed herself to be a stranger. “Can you tell me who that is?” she asked, nodding toward a young and dashing-looking lady, who sat near them talking and laughing merrily, and showing in all she did that she felt herself a privileged character, and could do and say what she pleased. Kitty, too, had been watching her, and taking notes of the cut of her dress and style of her hair, but she did not know who she was, and she said so to her interlocutor; then, as if the sound of a voice speaking kindly to her upon some other topic than her work had unlocked her pent-up feelings, she continued: “I do not know any one. I have been here week after week, too, and not a person has spoken to me except about my work.” “Is it possible?—and they call themselves Christians, too,” was the reply of the woman, who, having once passed a similar ordeal, knew just how desolate and neglected Kitty felt. Meantime there was a lull in the conversation of the ladies at the right, and, as Kitty’s voice was very clear, her words were distinctly heard by one of the group, at least. Swiftly the proud black eyes scanned Kitty’s face and person, and then, as if continuing an interrupted conversation, the lady said, loudly enough for Kitty to hear: “There is one thing this society needs, and that a committee, whose business it shall be to look after the new-comers—the sensitive ones, who feel slighted if they are not noticed—and introduce them, you know.” “An admirable idea,” said her companion. “Suppose we make you that committee.” “No, thank you; that is not in my line. I’ve no patience with people who think to make the sewing society a stepping-stone to other society. I come from a sense of duty, and think every right-minded person should do the same;” and again the black eyes flashed sidewise at poor Kitty, who could hardly restrain her tears, and who would have cried outright had she been alone, with no curious ones around her. Just then there was a fresh arrival, and the newcomer greeted her of the black eyes with the exclamation: “Why, Lottie Steele—it’s an age since you were here. I thought you had forsaken us.”