Her face was an alarming sight. “I'm afraid—” George began.
“Pardon!” gasped Miss Porter, driving the sweet with a tremendous swallow. “Pardon!”
“Not at all,” George pleasantly said. “Not at all. I called with reference to a lady-help.”
The grinding sweet forbade the pleasant dalliance
Miss Porter could have wished with this handsome young man. In a brave spasm (this girl was in great suffering), “I will tell the Principal,” she said; trod heavily to Miss Ram's door.
Fate is an abominable trickster; loves to tease us. With one hand it gave Miss Porter a delectable male; with the other prevented her enjoying him. Furthermore, it prematurely deprived her of a fine sweet.
Reappearing and holding the door ajar: “Miss Ram will see you,” she murmured. Tears were in this girl's eyes; the bolted sweet was still paining her very much indeed.
IV.
In two clever bows Miss Ram without a word greeted George; indicated a chair.
George sat down. “I want,” he began—“that is, my uncle wants, a lady-help—”