“Yes.”
The street-door was thrown suddenly open, and a woman appeared on the doorstep, with a lighted candle in her hand, which the wind instantly blew out. The woman was Mrs. Preedy, lodging-house keeper, my present mistress. She tried to see my face, but the night was too dark.
“Wait a minute,” she said; “stand where you are.”
Upon my word, my dear, I believe she was afraid of poor little me.
She retreated into the passage, and re-lit the candle. Shading and protecting it with her hand, she bade me walk in, but not to shut the street-door. I obeyed her, and she examined me, seeming to measure whether she was a match for me in strength.
“How did you know I wanted a servant?” she asked.
“They told me at the greengrocer’s round the corner,” I said.
“Where did you live last?”
I replied promptly, “I have never been in service. But I am sure I should suit you. I am strong and willing, and I don’t mind what I do so long as the place is comfortable.”