She still felt uncertain and resentful when she stood upon the threshold and rang the bell. She presented a stolid countenance to the maid servant who opened the door and received her message. When she was at last taken to Miss Amory, she went with an unresponding bearing, and, being led into a cheerful room where the old woman sat, stood before her waiting, as if she had really nothing to do with the situation. Miss Amory looked rather like some alert old hawk, less predatory by instinct than those of his species usually are. "You are Susan Chapman, and come from Mr. Baird," she said. Susan nodded. "He says he met you at Mr. Latimer's." "Yes. I went there to ask something. I couldn't bear not to know--no more than I did." "About----?" asked Miss Amory. "About Margery," her voice lowering unconsciously. "How much did you know?" Miss Amory asked again. "Nothin'," rather sullenly, "but that she was ill--an' went away an' died." "In Italy, they say," put in Miss Amory--"lying on a sofa before an open window--on a lovely day, when the sun was setting." Susan Chapman started a little, and her face changed. The unresponsiveness melted away. There was something like a glow of relief in her look. She became human and lost sight of Miss Amory's supposed grandeur. "Was it like that?" she exclaimed. "Was it? I'm thankful to you for telling me. Somehow I couldn't ask properly when I was face to face with her brother. You can't talk to him. I never knew where--or how--it was. I wanted to find out if--if it was all right with her. I wanted to know she hadn't suffered." "So did I," Miss Amory answered. "And that was what they told me." She passed her withered hand across her face. "I was fond of her," she said. "I'd _reason_ to be," returned Susan. "She was only a delicate little young thing--but she came an' stayed by me when I was in hell an' no one else would give me a drop of water to cool my tongue." "I know something about that," said Miss Amory; "I have heard it talked of. Where's your child?" Susan did not redden, but the hard look came back to her face for a moment. "It didn't live but a few minutes," she answered. "What are you doing for your living?" A faint red showed itself on the girl's haggard cheeks, and she stared at her with indifferent blankness. "I worked in the mill till my health broke down for a spell, an' I had to give up. I'm better now, but I've not got a cent to live on, an' my place was filled up right away." "Where's the man?" Miss Amory demanded. "I don't know. I've never heard a word of him since he slid off to Chicago." "Humph!" said Miss Amory. For a moment or so she sat silent, thinking. She held her chin in her hand and pinched it. Presently she looked up.