Just at this moment the door was opened, and the Squire came in. He was
of different stuff from his wife. When he saw Effie, his face beamed
with pleasure, and he held out a big, hearty hand.
"Miss Staunton!" he exclaimed. "Why, this is a pleasure! Oh, you must
not run away; you must sit down and tell me all about yourself--I've
been longing to hear about you. How is your brother in the City, and
your mother? I do hope she is a little better. And all those other lads
and lasses? Sit down, my clear child, I insist on it--I have lots of
things to say to you."
Mrs. Harvey, who was standing near the mantelpiece, came gently forward
when the Squire began to speak. She looked at Effie with new interest.
Her face was long and pale, she had no color in her lips, her light hair
was very fashionably dressed. She wore a dress of the latest mode, and
her thin fingers were loaded with rings, which flashed and shone
whenever she moved her hand.
Effie hated those flashing rings--she turned her head so that she need
not see them.
Mrs. Harvey began to talk in a high falsetto voice to her husband.
"Do you know, my dear," she exclaimed, "that Miss Staunton has just been
so kind? She came here to offer her services for Freda; but you know
dear Freda is getting on so capitally at the kindergarten, that---- Why,
what in the world is the matter, Walter?"
"Matter!" exclaimed the Squire in his hearty voice. "Why, that we won't
be such fools as to reject Miss Staunton's offer. I was told only a few
minutes ago that that kindergarten is simply full of whooping-cough and
measles--children sickening with them and going home almost every day. I
was going to say that Freda must be moved."
"Oh, I should think so, indeed," said Mrs. Harvey. "Whooping-cough and
measles! how terrible! and I never had whooping-cough--why, I shouldn't
be able to go out for the whole season. I do hope and trust the dear
child hasn't contracted the infection. Dear Miss Staunton, of course
you'll come. It is exactly what we'd like best. How soon can you
come?--to-morrow?--to-night?"
"Neither to-morrow nor to-night," said Effie. "But if you really wish
for me, and if we agree as regards terms, the day after to-morrow."
"What do you mean by saying if we agree as to terms?" asked Mrs. Harvey.
"I want a big salary," said Effie, looking up bravely at the two, who
were watching her with half-amused, half-anxious expression. "I want to
come to you, and to leave the work which I love best, because I hope you
may be induced to give me an exceptional salary. I want the money
because my mother and my--my young brothers and sisters are almost--at
least they will be, if I don't get it, almost starving."
Effie spoke in jerks. She had the greatest difficulty in keeping back
her emotion. It was dreadful to have to plead with these rich
people--these people who knew nothing whatever of her sore need--to whom
money was so plentiful as to have lost its freshness, its desirability,
its charm. It was awful to look into their faces--to see the blank,
non-comprehending stare which came into Mrs. Harvey's pretty blue eyes,
and to notice the puzzled expression on the Squire's face.
"You can't mean that?" he exclaimed. "You can't mean there's any chance
of that?"
"There is a chance of it, but not if I come here. I know how kind you
are, how noble you have been to me. I'll come to Freda. I'll do
everything for her; I'll teach her, and I'll play with her, and I'll
love her, and I'll nurse her if she is ill, but oh, do please be
generous and give me as big a salary as you can."
"What do you expect--what do you think fair?" asked the Squire.
"I thought--I know it seems a great deal, but I thought you might be
willing to give me sixty pounds a year."
"Bless you, my dear child!" exclaimed the Squire; "if you'll accept it,
we'll give you a hundred and fifty."
"No, I couldn't accept that," said Effie. "It is not fair."
"Why not? We couldn't get anyone else to exactly take your place for the
money; and remember we have plenty of money."
"I'll take a hundred a year, because I am in sore distress," said Effie,
after a brief pause; "and--and will you pay me monthly, and may I have
my first month's salary in advance? I wouldn't ask it if they didn't
want it _terribly_ at home. Will you do this?"
"Yes, with pleasure," said the Squire. "I insist on your accepting ten
pounds a month--that will be one hundred and twenty a year. Now, will
you have a check, or shall I give you the money in gold and notes?"
"The gold will be the most acceptable," said Effie. "Oh, I feel so
ashamed!" she added.
"Why should you? You give us an equivalent. Besides, it makes matters
more tolerable. I cannot forget----"
"Oh, don't, Walter--don't allude to that awful time!"--cried Mrs.
Harvey.
The Squire shut up his lips. He took a little bundle of gold out of one
of his pockets and put ten sovereigns into Effie's hand.
"It is a bargain," he said. "I cannot tell you how relieved we are.
You'll be with us the morning after next? Elfreda, my love, we must tell
our little Freda what a pleasure is in store for her."
"Yes, I am more than delighted," exclaimed Mrs. Harvey. "This plan suits
me in every way. You won't fail us, Miss Staunton? for, in case Freda by
any chance has taken that awful whooping-cough, you can keep her in
isolation from the very first."
"Oh, yes!" said Effie, smiling; "but I dare say she is all right."
She shook hands with her new employers and left the house.
The gold was in her pocket. She felt that she had sold herself and her
mission in life for ten sovereigns. "It is the present need which makes
the thing so desperate," she said under her breath. "If George has drawn
all the money, they have absolutely nothing to live on; but more will
come in, and there's this to go on with. We'll manage somehow now."
She returned to the lodgings, but before she went upstairs she had an
interview with the landlady.
"What do you charge my mother for rent?" she asked.
"Well, Miss Staunton," exclaimed the woman, "with the dinners and one
thing and another, I am obliged to make it a pound a week."
"That is a great deal too much," said Effie. "I don't suppose it is too
much for your rooms, but it is more than we can afford just now. When we
first came to you, you agreed to let us the rooms without attendance for
fifteen shillings a week. We cannot by any possible management afford to
pay more."
"But Mrs. Staunton wished for attendance, miss--she said it made all the
difference; there was half a crown for attendance and half a crown extra
for kitchen fire."
"But the kitchen fire was included in the fifteen shillings a week."
"Then there wasn't late dinner."
"Surely there is no late dinner now?" exclaimed Effie.
"Oh, yes, miss; every evening Mr. Staunton requires a nice little bit of
dinner sent up when he comes home. You see, miss, it is quite impossible
for me to have extra fires without charging for them."
"Certainly. Well, I don't think there will be any extra dinner in
future. And now please tell me exactly how much is due to you."
"Four pounds, miss; but if I'm paid one, on account, I shan't mind
waiting. I'd be really sorry to dislodge such a nice lady as your
mother, Miss Staunton."
"Here is the money in full," said Effie. "Will you give me a receipt?"
"Oh, with pleasure, miss. Won't you sit down? I hope, Miss Staunton,
nothing will induce your good mother to move from here. I will do
everything in my power to make her comfortable."
"You must understand," said Effie, "that in future she only pays fifteen
shillings a week without extras. My sisters Agnes and Katie are quite
old enough to do all the waiting which my mother requires. In fact they
must do so, for we can't afford to pay a penny more."
"Am I to understand, miss, that there's no late dinner?"
"Certainly not."
"Very well; I am sure I'll do all in my power to oblige."
Effie left her, putting her receipt carefully in her pocket as she did
so. She went upstairs and entered the little sitting-room where her
mother was now pacing quickly and restlessly up and down. There was a
deep flush on her cheeks, and a look of despair in her eyes.
"Oh, Effie, you've come!" she exclaimed, the moment she saw her
daughter. "George has been in. There's something wrong, I know--I know
there is. He came in just for a minute and he kissed me, and said he
wasn't coming home to-night, and he--he looked _wild_. He stuffed a few
things into a bag, and said I wasn't to expect him back to-night. I
didn't dare ask him about the money. What--what can be the matter,
Effie?"