They stood outside the door - two children in shabby outgrown coats. "Any old papers, lady?" I was busy, I wanted to say no until I saw the snow on their clothes. And their little sandals   were also covered with snow. "Come in and I'll make you a cup of hot cocoa." There was no conversation. Their wet sandals left marks upon the floor. I served them cocoa and toast with jam to strengthen them against the cold outside. Then I went back to the kitchen and started again on my household. The silence in the front room got me to look inside. The girl held the empty cup in her hands, looking at it. The boy asked in a flat voice, "Lady, are you rich?" "Am I rich? Mercy, no! " I looked at my shabby sofa. The girl put her cup back in its saucer carefully. "Your cups match your saucers, she said." They left then, holding their bundles of papers against the wind. They hadn't said thank you. They didn't need to. They had done more than that. Plain blue cups and saucers. But they matched. I tasted the potatoes and looked at the meat. Potatoes and meat, the roof over my head, my man with a good steady job - these things matched, too. I moved the chairs back from the fire and tidied the living room. The muddy prints of small sandals were still wet upon my floor. I let them be. I wanted them there in case I ever forget again how very rich I am. What can be seen from the passage is that_.
the author was very rich and unkind the children took away the cups and saucers the author's husband had a steady job the two children were looking for jobs.