“I have such testimonials as I brought from college at the end of my last and graduating term. I have no other referees, except a lady of Baltimore, who gave me permission to use her name. She is a Mrs. Ponsonby, of Calvert Street, in that city, and she is frequently in New York here, where she has a married daughter, Mrs. Saxony, of —— Street.”
“Oh! I know them both—mother and daughter. I have met them in Washington and at Newport. They will do quite well,” said the lady, cordially.
“But, madame,” said Lilith, as the painful flush deepened in her cheek, “I don’t know Mrs. Saxony at all, and very little of Mrs. Ponsonby except that—that—that—she took me up on faith—and——”
“That does not matter. I can trust Mrs. Ponsonby; and, my dear, I can trust your candid, truthful face. Are you equally satisfied with me?”
“Oh, madame!” said Lilith, deprecatingly.
“Then we have only to speak of salary—twelve hundred dollars a year, paid quarterly. Are the terms satisfactory?”
“Oh, madame, they are very munificent. The salary is very much larger than I expected.”
“It is not too large for one of your accomplishments, who is, besides, required to quit her country—to expatriate herself, perhaps, for years.”
Lilith made no reply. She was beginning to tremble at the prospect of an indefinite exile.
“I expect to sail on the first of June. Can you be ready by that time?”