His wife put her emaciated hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Two heads are better than one, as they say. Horace and I would be glad to help you, if we can.”
“It is silly to be upset, like,” said Elsie, sniffing. “Mother and I had a few words, that’s all, and I’m to get hold of a job. I’m sure I don’t know why I’m crying. I shall be glad enough to get out of this place for a bit.”
“Hush, dear! That isn’t a nice way to speak of your home, now is it? But about this job, now. Horace and I might be able to help you there.”
She hesitated and looked at her husband. “What about the Woolleys, dear?”
“Yes—ye-es.”
“These are some new acquaintances of ours, and they’ve a lovely house at Hampstead, but Mrs. Woolley isn’t any too strong, and I know she’s looking out for someone to help her with the children and all. It wouldn’t be going to service—nothing at all like that, of course; I know you wouldn’t think of that, dear—but just be one of the family at this lovely house of theirs.”
“It isn’t in the country, is it?” Elsie asked suspiciously.
“Oh no, dear, Hampstead I said. Only three-quarters of an hour by ’bus from town. Don’t you like the country?”
“Too dead-alive.”
“Well, these people that I’m telling you about, this Doctor and Mrs. Woolley, they’re youngish married people, and most pleasant. Aren’t they, Horace? And they’ve two sweet kiddies—a boy and a girl. Don’t you think you’d like me to speak to Mrs. Woolley, now, dear?”