Christian fiction; Scotland -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
Mary rose, and followed him to the basement story, into a comfortable
room, where sat Mrs. Perkin, embroidering large sunflowers on a piece
of coarse stuff. She was _artistic_, and despised the whole style of
the house.
"You may sit down," she said, and pointed to a chair near the door.
Mary, not a little amused, for all her discomfort, did as she was
permitted, and awaited what should come next.
"What part of the country are you from?" asked Mrs. Perkin, with her
usual diagonal upward toss of the chin, but without lifting her eyes
from her work.
"From Testbridge," answered Mary.
"The servants in this house are in the habit of saying _ma'am_ to their
superiors: it is required of them," remarked Mrs. Perkin. But, although
her tone was one of rebuke, she said the words lightly, tossed the last
of them off, indeed, almost playfully, as if the lesson was meant for
one who could hardly have been expected to know better. "And what place
did you apply for in the house?" she went on to ask.
"I can hardly say, ma'am," answered Mary, avoiding both inflection and
emphasis, and by her compliance satisfying Mrs. Perkin that she had
been right in requiring the _kotou_. "It is not usual for young persons
to be engaged without knowing for what purpose."
"I suppose not, ma'am."
"What wages were you to have?" next inquired Mrs. Perkin, gradually
assuming a more decided drawl as she became more assured of her
position with the stranger. She would gladly get some light on the
affair. "You need not object to mentioning them," she went on, for she
imagined Mary hesitated, whereas she was only a little troubled to keep
from laughing; "I always pay the wages myself."
"There was nothing said about wages, ma'am," answered Mary.
"Indeed! Neither work nor wages specified? Excuse me if I say it seems
rather peculiar.--We must be content to wait a little, then--until we
learn what Mrs. Redmain expected of you, _and whether or not you are
capable of it_. We can go no further now."
"Certainly not, ma'am," assented Mary.
"Can you use your needle?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Have you done any embroidery?"
"I understand it a little, but I am not particularly fond of it."
"You mistake: I did not ask you whether you were fond of it," said Mrs.
Perkin; "I asked you if you had ever done any"; and she smiled
severely, but ludicrously, for a diagonal smile is apt to have a comic
effect. "Here!--take off your gloves," she continued, "and let me see
you do one of these loose-worked sunflowers. They are the fashion now,
though. I dare say, you will not be able to see the beauty of them."
"Please, ma'am," returned Mary, "if you will excuse me, I would rather
go to my room. I have had a long journey, and am very tired."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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