"What are you doing up here? You look as frozen as I
feel. Have you got on overshoes?"
The woman shook her head. "I haven't got any. I wouldn't have come
out, but I had to bring some work back to Mrs. Le Moyne. If she'd
paid me I'd have bought a pair of rubbers. But she didn't pay me.
She said she'd let me have the money next week."
"Next week! You need it this minute. How much does she owe you?"
"Four seventy-five for these last things, and four twenty-five for
those I made last week. I don't know what I'm going to do." The
woman's hands, cold and stiff, twisted nervously. "I don't reckon
she's ever had to think about rent, or food, or fuel, or overshoes.
People like that don't have to. I wish they did, sometimes."
"So do I. Come on; it's too cold to stop. We'll go down to Benson's
and get something hot to warm us up. I forgot about lunch. Turn
your coat-collar up--the snow is getting down your neck--and take my
muff. I've got pockets and you haven't."
As we started off a large limousine with violets in the glass vases
of its interior, upholstered in fawn-colored cloth, stopped just
ahead of us, and a woman I did not know got out of it, followed by
one I knew well.
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