"Yes," she said, "it’s certainly a nice day."
She fell silent again, trying to arrange an opening for her questions; but the snub-nosed maid spared her the trouble.
"Well!" she said. "How do you like it up-stairs?"
Angelica at once perceived that the other girl was curious.
"Oh-h-h!" she said slowly. "I suppose it’s all right."
Another silence, during which they appraised each other according to their tradition. A mutual confidence was born.
"They’re a queer bunch," said the girl. "I never saw the like; and I’ve been with seven families, too."
Here she courteously gave Angelica a brief history of her life and condition. Her name was Annie McCall, born in Scotland, but brought up in America, a member of the Plymouth Brethren, twenty-seven, and engaged to be married. She was extremely severe in her views, which were often similar to Angelica’s, especially in regard to the immoralities of the rich. There was this difference, though—Annie was confident that she knew everything, and was infallibly right, while Angelica was anxious to learn.
"If it wasn’t that I was going to be married," said Annie, "and saving every penny, I’d leave. The way they carry on! I never saw the like!"
"Do they carry on?" inquired Angelica, delighted.