"I was expecting you, Mrs. Siddall—that is, Miss Stevens."
"Mr. Jennings did not say when I was to come. If I am disturbing you—"
Mrs. Brindley hastened to assure her that her visit was quite convenient. "I must have someone to share the expense of this apartment with me, and I want the matter settled. Mr. Jennings has explained about you to me, and now that I've seen you—" here she smiled charmingly—"I am ready to say that it is for you to say."
Mildred did not know how to begin. She looked at Mrs. Brindley with appeal in her troubled young eyes.
"You no doubt wish to know something about me," said Mrs. Brindley. "My husband was a composer—a friend of Mr. Jennings. He died two years ago. I am here in New York to teach the piano. What the lessons will bring, with my small income, will enable me to live—if I can find someone to help out at the expenses here. As I understand it, you are willing to pay forty dollars a week, I to run the house, pay all the bills, and so on—all, of course, if you wish to come here."
Mildred made a not very successful attempt to conceal her embarrassment.
"Perhaps you would like to look at the apartment?" suggested Mrs. Brindley.
"Thank you, yes," said Mildred.
The tour of the apartment—two bedrooms, dining-room, kitchen, sitting-room, large bath-room, drawing-room—took only a few minutes, but Mildred and Mrs. Brindley contrived to become much better acquainted. Said Mildred, when they were in the drawing-room again:
"It's most attractive—just what I should like. What—how much did Mr. Jennings say?"