“You compare things which have no standard of comparison,” she said. “You are a lady and know how to behave and to keep your proper place. These creatures don’t. They must be taught. If you had taken that woman in the right way, and talked down to her and cheapened her well, she would have respected you, and she might have turned out a servant good enough.” “Florence, dear,” pleaded Lucy, “I would not wish to take any woman into my house who could behave so. And her appearance was horrid!” “She would have done up decently enough if you had insisted on it,” said Florence. “Why need you care how uncouth a servant looks so long as you can get plenty of work out of her? It is not as if you had a professional man in your house, and had to think of a girl’s appearance in opening the door. Do better next time. Here comes another.” “Are you wanting a general servant, ma’am?” said the girl, advancing towards Mrs. Challoner. This was a younger woman than the last. Better looking too, despite the draggled feather which overhung her hat. There was some pertness in her voice and manner. But Lucy was not repelled by her as by the other, and was therefore brave enough to carry on some catechism on her own side. “You have been a general servant before?” “Yes, m’m; I’ve never been anything else.” “Then you have plenty of experience, and know what you are undertaking?” “I’ve been in places, m’m, since I was fifteen. I’m twenty-two now.” She looked at least four years older. Again Mrs. Challoner stated the wages she gave, adding some rough sketch of the duties of the place. “I am sure a reliable girl will find it comfortable,” she said. “And now—if we agree on other things—what references have you to give me?” The rather haggard face fell; but the pert voice answered undauntedly— “I was three months in my last place, m’m, and they’ve got nothing to say against me.” “Three months is a very short time,” commented Lucy. “Why did you leave?” “Well, m’m, the missis had such a temper as never was.” A pause. “She couldn’t get no girl to stay.” “She will give you a character?” “Well, m’m, it’s a shame if she didn’t! I’ve had nothing against my character.” “She could not know you very well in three months’ time,” mused Lucy. “But she could at least tell me the character she got when she engaged you.” “She never asked a character,” said the girl. “Ah, m’m, she was too glad to get anybody. She knowed her own temper and that no one wouldn’t stay.” Lucy looked at her with considering eyes. “If I were a servant,” said she, “I would not go where my character was not sought for. I should feel sure it could not be a good place.” The girl muttered something about ladies being sometimes hard put to it and in a dreadful hurry, and about “a poor girl having to get her bread.” Lucy’s charity instantly accepted all such possible excuses.