Pamela reddened, looked down and shook her head.
Within a few minutes the woman brought a tray of small triangular sandwiches, a pot of tea and a plate of cookies. Her look became serious, however, when she saw Pamela's expression.
'Help yourself, dear. Don't mind me. I'll just help myself to one or two. You're still a young, growing girl.'
Pamela couldn't stop her hands from trembling slightly from hunger. There were so many sandwiches that she could eat a fair number without looking like a complete pig, weren't there?
'My dear, we shall have to do something about your clothing. Have you anything more . . . formal?' At the look on Pamela's face, she shook her head and said, 'Of course you don't. Not to worry, though. We'll get you fixed up when we arrive at your new home.'
'What's it like?' Pamela asked her suddenly. 'I mean, the place you live? I mean, well, what's the house like? And the area?'
'The house,' Mrs. Dewhurst said with an irony that was lost on Pamela, her smile returning. 'Well, it's a fairly big house, as houses go, and there are lots of people living in it, and there are lots of domestic workers . . . servants is too archaic a word. Real servants, back in the bad old days, used to work long hours for their room and board only. A modern domestic is paid a wage, and is often supplied with room and board as well, as in our case, when the location of the . . . house . . . is fairly remote.
'There is a small town about six miles away, where we buy anything we need, and where we all go to church on Sunday. By the way, church is a household event, which we all attend. Do you attend church?'
Pamela's eyes fell. 'Sort of. There's a Catholic Mission I work at on the weekends. We have a service, which Father Mugford gives-'
'You're Catholic?'
Pamela swallowed, feeling at once false and shabby once more. 'No,' she muttered in a small voice, 'I'm not anything. I work there mostly because . . . well . . . it's a few dollars... and a meal-' She couldn't speak any more. To her own surprise and utter humiliation, she found she was crying.
Mrs. Dewhurst didn't seem the least bit embarrassed or put out, however. She left her chair and sat beside the girl. 'That's all right. A few tears are good for the soul.' She sighed, and to Pamela's surprise, put her arm around the girl, let her cry her heart out on the woman's shoulder. 'Cry all you like, dear. It strikes me that, so far, you don't have much to thank the good Lord for. But maybe we can change that. Hm?'