"Yes—m'm," came the slow reply.
The boarding house drudge, a bold looking Irish girl, not devoid of certain physical attractions, despite a dirty apron, dishevelled hair, and besmudged face, entered Mrs. Parkes' parlor, carrying broom and dust pan.
"Was it me yer wus after callin', m'm?" she demanded, in a rich, auld counthry brogue.
"I thought I told you to dust this room!" snapped her mistress, with rising wrath.
The girl looked stupidly around.
"Sure—ain't it dusted?" she answered saucily.
Mrs. Parkes bounded with anger. Losing all patience and pointing to an accumulation of dirt plainly in evidence under the chairs, she cried:
"Do you call that dusting? What have you been doing all day? It's always the same—nothing done. I don't know what we're coming to—having to run a respectable house with such help. All you girls think about nowadays is gadding about, getting as much wages as you can, and doing as little work as possible. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
Mrs. Parkes stopped her tirade for sheer want of breath. Hilda threw back her head defiantly.
"Maybe I ain't as good as some as think they're my betters, and maybe I am. If I don't suit, yer can get someone else. My month's up to-day. I'll go at once."