“It—it might cause comment,” said the madam, doubtfully.
Meanwhile, the substitute parlor-maid was going briskly about the work Cynthia Fogg had left undone. Madam Hammersly ceased objecting, sat down upon one of the hall chairs, smoothed out her black silk dress, and watched Beth.
In twenty minutes the reception hall was finished, baseboards wiped, and the walls brushed as high up as Beth could reach with the feather duster. Then the girl went over the polished balustrade of the stairway again with the soft dustcloth.
“There!” she said, with satisfaction. “I don’t think you will find any dust here now, Madam. Try your handkerchief.”
“No, my child,” sighed the lady, nodding her head. “I have watched you. That is sufficient. You are thorough. You see the importance of trifles. I wish I had a girl to train like you.”
“Do you think I could suit you, Madam?” asked Beth, demurely.
“Indeed, I am sure of it,” cried Madam Hammersly, vigorously.
“By getting to work at half-past five and working till seven, I could dust the stairway and hall and one of the drawing-rooms each morning. Then, in the hour between three and four in the afternoon except Saturdays, when I could start half an hour earlier in the morning, I could do the other drawing-room.”
“Goodness me, child!” exclaimed the madam, rising quickly. “What are you saying?”
“I am applying for the position that I see is open, Madam,” said Beth, laughing. “If you think I’d suit——”