She never forgot her first sight of that house, and never afterward did
it really look otherwise to her. In rain, in snow, in summer or winter,
it was always to her as she had first seen it on that breezy spring
morning.
It was a big stone house on a wide, sunny hill, and it had somehow a
festive air, with its striped awnings, the white curtains fluttering at
open windows, and a flag flying on a pole on the summit of the hill. It
put her in mind of a picture she had seen in an old school copy of
"Ivanhoe," of a medieval castle on the day of a tournament.
She was profoundly impressed. The complacency she had felt on the train
melted away, and she began to realize how preposterous her idea was. She
entered the iron gate and began walking up the long gravel path which
led up the hill to the house, a solitary figure, with bare, sunny lawns
on either side of her, behind her the highroad where motor-cars were
spinning past, before her the august, the unknown house. Altogether an
alien world where she felt mean and pitiful in her cheap clothes, her
worn, shapeless boots.
"I _look_ like a factory girl," she reflected bitterly. "Any one would
know. Perhaps they won’t even let me in."
The maid who opened the door was certainly not encouraging. She looked
Angelica up and down.
"I don’t know whether Mrs. Russell ’ll see any more of you," she said.
"Such a crowd all morning! Come in, though."
Angelica followed her into a large hall with a polished floor, where
upon chairs ranged along the wall sat a row of women, beginning in
darkness at the farther end of the hall, and ending in sunshine near the
door, where Angelica took her seat.
She sat for some minutes in a frozen quiet, until her awe of the great
house and the severe servant and the unknown women ebbed away, and her
natural curiosity came flowing back. Then she turned her head a little
and saw them all, the whole row, staring at her. Her spine stiffened
instinctively, and she began a deliberate survey of her rivals.
The first two she couldn’t see, because they sat under the stairs in
utter darkness. Then came a portly old lady with an immense
alligator-skin bag; then a very composed, handsome woman in black. She
got no further, for the servant came hurrying back across the slippery
floor, to let in still another applicant.
Angelica now joined with the others in staring at this new one--a
blonde, superior young person, tightly corseted. She sat down next to
Angelica, and once more the line composed itself to waiting. A quarter
of an hour went by; then the old lady with the alligator bag began
whispering to her neighbor in the dark, and that started a sort of
general conversation in whispers. The information was passed along the
line that "she"--the first one, under the stairs--had been there two
hours.
"I came here before about a month ago," whispered the one before
Angelica. "She advertised, but she changed her mind and sent us all
away."
Angelica was surprised at the timidity of this person who was so
obviously a lady, if a rather faded one. It gave her courage. Being a
lady wasn’t the whole thing, then, after all. She was on the point of
answering, when once more the parlour maid hurried past, to admit an
extraordinary object.
She was a tall, bony woman of perhaps fifty, dressed in a checked coat
and riding-breeches, with a derby hat jammed down over her face and a
confusion of red hair streaming from under it. As she crossed the hall,
the last pin seemed to give way, and it all fell down about her
shoulders. She made a helpless sort of gesture to put it right, found
she couldn’t, and went on, with a long stride. Her face was overshadowed
by her hat, but there were visible a sharp nose and a pointed chin. Her
voice was unexpectedly soft and agreeable.
"Good morning!" she said. "Who’s first?"
The young blonde jumped up.
"I, please!" she said.
They were all struck dumb for a minute; then Angelica said boldly:
"You’re not!"
The lady in breeches turned her head briskly.
"Never mind!" she said pleasantly. "I’ll see you first anyway. You’ll
each have your turn; don’t worry!"
The young woman followed her into a room across the hall, and the door
was closed.
"Well, I never!" cried a voice from the darkness.
It was the woman who had waited two hours. An indignant and subdued
chorus began, which ended only when the blond young lady reappeared,
smiling falsely, and walked past them all to the front door. She had
failure written upon her face; and she knew it, and was very anxious to
be gone. But the front door would not open; she was obliged to stand
there, fumbling with the lock, raked by the eyes of those whom she had
defrauded.
"She didn’t stay long!" observed the old lady. "Well, I didn’t think
she’d suit."
"Of course not!" said another.
"Such tricks never bring any good luck," said the old lady. "After all,
there is such a thing as justice in this world, and no----”
The red-haired lady returned and opened the front door.
"Now then!" she said, beckoning to Angelica.
Angelica shook her head.
"No--I’m the last," she replied.
"It doesn’t matter about the order. Please come in."
So Angelica followed her into a dark little paneled room, where an
orange-shaded lamp glowed from the top of a piano, showing carved
chairs, a soft, dull rug, a harp, and a suit of armour that glistened
from a corner. It seemed an enchanted room, like a scene from a play, or
a dream. Angelica really didn’t worry now about getting the position; it
was worth while having come, just to have got inside of this house and
this room.
The extraordinary lady sat down upon a divan and crossed her long legs.
She had a pencil in her hand, and a little notebook, and she was most
businesslike.
"Your name?" she inquired.
"Angelica Kennedy."
It wasn’t really Angelica’s name; Kennedy was her mother’s name, but
they had both agreed that Donallotti was an impossible and unseemly
patronymic, and might cause them to be taken for _foreigners_.
"Your age?"
"Nineteen."
Angelica felt terribly at a disadvantage, standing there to be
questioned. She could hear her own voice, rather hoarse, and her vulgar
accent. She was conscious of being ungloved, of being awkward and
despised. She felt herself lost, she was in despair, she longed to run
away and be done with this misery; but the lady went on pleasantly.
"Your address?"
Her heart sank still lower as she saw written down the obscure and
sordid street.
"Could you give me any social references?"
That finished her.
"No!" she said curtly.
"Oh! Can’t you?" said the nice voice, disappointed. "What about
experience, then? What have you done?"
"You said experience was unnecessary."
"Yes, I know; but can’t you give me some sort of idea, you
know--something about yourself?"
Angelica was obstinately silent.
"What made you come? What did you think your qualifications were?" the
other asked, less pleasantly.
"I could be useful," said Angelica sullenly. "I can sew--trim hats--I
worked with a milliner once. Whatever else you wanted I could learn, and
I wouldn’t expect much pay while I was learning."
The lady interrupted her.
"How much would you expect?" she asked, with sudden interest.
"I don’t care. Just enough to help--mother. And I’m real quick to learn.
I could----”
"There isn’t anything to learn, my dear," said the red-haired one. With
an astounding change of manner, she suddenly became confidential and
garrulous. "You see, it’s for my daughter-in-law, Mrs. Geraldine. She
must have some one with her. The doctor says she’s not to be left alone.
She’s been through a dreadful experience. She lost her sweet little baby
six weeks ago. Isn’t that dreadful?"
Angelica agreed briefly that it was.
"Well, I want some one just to be about with her, you know. No work;
it’s really an ideal life. I said to my husband I’d absolutely love to
do it myself, if I had the time. She’s the dearest soul--a little
depressed now, naturally. How much would you expect?"
"What do you want to give?"
"You see, it has to come out of my own pocket. I’m doing it for her, to
make her happy. I’ll pay, but she’ll have the benefit; and of course I’m
not able to--I’ll give you twenty dollars."
"A week?"
"A month."
Angelica was quiet for a moment. It was perfectly apparent to her that
cheapness was her only asset; that if she didn’t come cheap and very
cheap, she wouldn’t be considered. She reflected, and grew more and more
convinced that here was a stepping-stone.
"All right," she said. "That’s not much pay, but I’ll take it."
"And what about references?" asked Mrs. Russell.
This was an attempt to regain a lost advantage. If she was getting
Angelica cheap, she must make her feel and see that she was cheap.
"I haven’t any."
"Oh, but you must have SOME!" said Mrs. Russell.
She was determined that Angelica should give her references, even if
they were obviously false ones. She knew she would be questioned in
regard to this, and she preferred to say that she had been deceived.
That would absolve her from blame. It would even add to her merit,
showing her to be trusting and kindly.
"The rector of your church, perhaps?" she suggested.
"Haven’t any church."
"Didn’t you say that you’d worked for a milliner?" "Wouldn’t she----”
"Not on your life! My Lord! I don’t know what she _wouldn’t_ say about
me! She hated the sight of me. Jealous! No, there’s no one; but if you
want to know more about me, you could go and see my mother."
"I might do that," said Mrs. Russell slowly. It was a good idea; she
would certainly be praised for going to all this trouble in
investigating the character of Polly’s companion. "Yes, I will. I’ll go
down to the city and fetch you to-morrow morning. And be ready for me
early, won’t you?--for I have so very little time." She went to the
door, followed by Angelica; then out into the hall, where the patient
row still sat, waiting for the turns she had promised them.
"I’m sorry," she told them, with an affable smile, "but the place is
taken. Good morning!"
They all stared at her incredulously for a moment. Then, as she held
open the front door, they got up, surged out together, and went down the
hill in a straggling parade, all so shabby in the sunlight. The one who
had been waiting so very long, in the dark under the stairs--a wan
little thing in a befeathered hat--turned upon Angelica a dreadful
look.