Elsie reflected that there would probably be a fire in the sitting-room, and in her own room it was cold, and she knew that the bed was still unmade. She followed Mrs. Williams into the sitting-room, where Mr. Williams sat reading a Sunday illustrated paper. “Horace, this poor child is quite upset. Give her a seat, dear.” “It’s all right,” said Elsie, confused. She had only seen Mr. Williams half a dozen times. He always breakfasted and went out early, and Elsie, of late, had eaten her supper in the kitchen. They had met at meal-times on Sundays, but she had never spoken to him, and thought him elderly and uninteresting. Mr. Williams was indeed forty-three years old, desiccated and inclined to baldness, a small, rather paunchy man. His little, hard grey eyes gleamed on Elsie now from behind his pince-nez. “No bad news, I hope?” His voice was dry, and rather formal, with great precision of utterance. His wife put her emaciated hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Two heads are better than one, as they say. Horace and I would be glad to help you, if we can.” “It is silly to be upset, like,” said Elsie, sniffing. “Mother and I had a few words, that’s all, and I’m to get hold of a job. I’m sure I don’t know why I’m crying. I shall be glad enough to get out of this place for a bit.” “Hush, dear! That isn’t a nice way to speak of your home, now is it? But about this job, now. Horace and I might be able to help you there.” She hesitated and looked at her husband. “What about the Woolleys, dear?” “Yes--ye-es.” “These are some new acquaintances of ours, and they’ve a lovely house at Hampstead, but Mrs. Woolley isn’t any too strong, and I know she’s looking out for someone to help her with the children and all. It wouldn’t be going to service--nothing at all like that, of course; I know you wouldn’t think of that, dear--but just be one of the family at this lovely house of theirs.” “It isn’t in the country, is it?” Elsie asked suspiciously. “Oh no, dear, Hampstead I said. Only three-quarters of an hour by ’bus from town. Don’t you like the country?” “Too dead-alive.” “Well, these people that I’m telling you about, this Doctor and Mrs. Woolley, they’re youngish married people, and most pleasant. Aren’t they, Horace? And they’ve two sweet kiddies--a boy and a girl. Don’t you think you’d like me to speak to Mrs. Woolley, now, dear?” Elsie was not sure. She felt that Mrs. Williams was going too fast. “I don’t know,” she said ungraciously. “She’s right,” said Mr. Williams. “We mustn’t be in too great a hurry. Write to your friend Mrs. Woolley by all means, my dear, and let this young lady think it over, and have a talk with her mother and sister. She may not care to live away from home altogether.” “Horace is always so business-like,” said Mrs. Williams admiringly. “I expect he’s right, dear. But you’d like me to write, just to see if there’s any chance, now wouldn’t you?” “What should I have to do there?”