She looked at me for a moment, and shook her head, and was out of the room before I could get up and stop her.

She always runs off in that way when she is going to cry, having a kind of pride about letting other people see her in tears.
March 5th.

A fright about Mary.

I had not seen her all day, as she does not work at the same place where I do; and in the evening she never came down to have tea with me, or sent me word to go to her; so, just before I went to bed, I ran upstairs to say good-night.
She did not answer when I knocked; and when I stepped softly in the room I saw her in bed, asleep, with her work not half done, lying about the room in the untidiest way.

There was nothing remarkable in that, and I was just going away on tiptoe, when a tiny bottle and wine-glass on the chair by her bedside caught my eye.