I procured a similar straight-backed chair and drew it near enough to converse without too much effort. It was awkward. It was like trying to play an act on a stage with nothing but two straight chairs in the middle--no scenery, nothing to elude or soften. Mrs. Sewall, sitting there before me in her perfect black, a band of white neatly edging her neck and wrists, veil snugly drawn, gloves tightly clasped, was like some hermetically sealed package. Her manner was forbidding, her gaze penetrating. "So this is where you live!" she remarked. "Yes, this is where I live," I replied. "It's very quiet, and a most desirable location." "Oh! Quiet! Desirable! I see." Then after a pause in which my old employer looked so sharply at me that I wanted to exclaim, "I know I'm a little gaunt, but I'm not the least disheartened," she inquired frowning, "Did you remain in this quiet, desirable place all summer, may I ask?" "Well--not all summer. I was away for three weeks--but my room-mate, Miss Claff, was here. It isn't uncomfortable." "Where were you then, if not here?" "Why, resting. I took a vacation," I replied. "You have been ill," Mrs. Sewall stated with finality, and there was no kindness in her voice; it expressed instead vexation. "That is evident. You have been ill. What was the trouble?" "Oh, nothing much. Nerves, I suppose." "Nerves! And why should a girl like you have nerves?" "I don't know, I'm sure," I smiled. "I went into book-binding. It's quite the fad, you know. Some society women take it up for diversion, but I didn't like it." "Were you in a hospital? Did your people know? Were you properly cared for?" Each question that she asked came with a little sharper note of irritation. "Yes. Oh, yes. I was properly cared for. I was in a private room. I have loyal friends here." "Loyal friends!" scoffed Mrs. Sewall. "Loyal friends indeed! And may I ask what loyal friend allows you to go about in your present distressing condition? You are hardly fit to be seen, Miss Vars." I flushed. "I'm sorry," I said. "Disregard of one's health is not admirable." "I'm being very careful," I assured Mrs. Sewall. "If you could but know the eggs I consume!" "Miss Vars," inquired Mrs. Sewall, with obvious annoyance in her voice, "was it you that I saw yesterday crossing Fifth Avenue?" "With the boxes? It was I," I laughed. She frowned. "I was shocked. Such occupation is unbecoming to you." "It is a perfectly self-respecting occupation," I maintained. The frown deepened. "Possibly. Yes, _self-respecting_, but, if I may say so, scarcely respecting your friends, scarcely respecting those who have cared deeply for you--I refer to your family--scarcely respecting your birth, bringing-up, and opportunities. It was distinctly out of place. The spectacle was not only shocking to me, it was painful. Not that what I think carries any weight with you. I have been made keenly aware of how little my opinions count. But----"