“I’m feeling fairly healthy,”—Archibald’s voice was grave—“and I’ll try not to get drunk.”
“Oh, well, then we’ll get along fine, sir. Of course I’d do my best, even if you did get sick or drunk, but it’s lots harder.”
“I should think it might be. Now the next thing to be settled is, what your wages are to be.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t expect wages—not real wages, you know. Just enough to get me some shoes and some aprons. I’d like some big clean-looking aprons that would hide my dresses. My dresses aren’t so very nice, you know, but they’d do under aprons.”
“Miss O’Neill,”—Archibald shook a forefinger at her sternly—“I won’t allow any one to see to me without paying her real wages. I couldn’t be funny and messy with any comfort at all unless there was a wage earner to clean up after me. Now I don’t know how wages go in this Valley, but what would you say to five dollars a week?”
Pegeen stared at him in blank amazement. Then a pitying expression blotted out the surprise.
“You certainly do need seeing to,” she said gently, in the tone of one humoring the harmless insane. “Why, you can get real hired help for five dollars; but, then, a man wouldn’t know.”
“I’ve got more than hired help. I’ve got somebody who does all the work. I’ve got a cook and a housekeeper and a valet and a companion. Now, for the services of four experts I don’t consider five dollars an exorbitant wage. So that’s settled.”
The vivid little face across the table was flushed, excited. It occurred to the man that if the thin cheeks should take on plumpness and the sharp little chin should fill out to rounded curves, and the unchildish, anxious look should quite die out of the great eyes, Pegeen might some day be amazingly pretty. Even as it was, there was an appealing charm about her.
“What’ll I ever do with all that money?” she asked breathlessly.