She went into the dining-room and waited--ten minutes--twenty.
Her mother came to her there. She sat down in her armchair by the
window-seat where the old work-basket stood piled with socks ready for
darning. She took a sock and drew it over her hand, stretching it to find
the worn places. Mary took its fellow and began to darn it. The coarse
wool, scraping her finger-tips, sent through her a little light,
creeping, disagreeable shock.
She was afraid to look at her mother's face.
"Well, Mary--poor Aunt Charlotte might have been carried away in her
coffin, and we shouldn't have known if it had been left to you to tell
us."
"I didn't because I thought it would frighten you."
Mamma was not frightened. They couldn't have told her what it was really
like.
Papa's slippers shuffled in the passage. Mamma left off darning to listen
as Catty had listened.