"So do I; but that does not prove that she ever lived with them. Cannot she refer to any of the family?" "No; she did nothing but laundry work there, and never saw any of their friends, I fancy; but she does have a written character from the family she lived with before them, very nice people in South Boston." "What's their name?" "I don't remember," said Miss Marian Carter, blushing, "but I have it written down at home." "I should certainly go there, if I were you." "It is so far off, and I never went there in my life." "Well, you ought. It sounds very suspicious. Of course there are a few nice people in South Boston; they have to live there because they own factories and things, and have to be near them; but then, again, there are such dreadful neighbourhoods there. Most likely she depends on your not taking the trouble, and you will find the number she gave you over some low grog-shop." "Oh, I should be so frightened! I really do not think I can go!" "You surely ought not to risk taking her without, and very likely have her turn out an accomplice of burglars, like that Norah of mine, through whom I lost so much silver." "I thought you had a character with her." "So I did, or I should not have taken her. I make it a principle not to. It only shows how great the danger is with a character; without one it amounts to a certainty." "She was such a nice-looking girl!" "That makes no difference. I always mistrust maids who look too nice. They are sure to have some story, or scrape, or something, like that Florence of mine, who looked so much of a lady, and turned out to be a clergyman's daughter, and had run away from her husband--a most respectable man. He came to the house after her, and gave no end of trouble." "But this girl did not look at all like that; not a bit above her place, but so neatly dressed, and with a plain, sensible way about her; and her name is Drusilla Elms--such a quaint, old-fashioned, American-sounding name, quite refreshing to hear." "It sounds very like an assumed name. The very worst woman I ever had was named Bathsheba Fogg; she turned out to have been a chorus girl at some low theatre, and must have picked it up from some farce or other." "Then you really think I ought to go to South Boston?" "I should do so in your place," replied Mrs. William Treadwell. This gave but scant encouragement, for Marian could not but feel that the result of her friend's going and that of her own, might be very different; and Mrs. Treadwell, as she watched her visitor off, smiled good-humouredly, but pityingly. "Poor dear Marian! What a little fool she is to swallow everything that she is told in that way! It is a wonder that the Carters ever have a decent servant in their house."