Mrs. Dacre looked at him in surprise. "I do, and I do not know Mrs. Arne. She is hardly an acquaintance of mine; I only know her as a dressmaker."
"A dressmaker?" repeated Mallow, with a gasp.
"She is not really even that," continued the voluble lady--"pray be seated Mr. Mallow. Mrs. Arne is, in fact, a person who goes out sewing. She was recommended to me as an intelligent needlewoman by one of my friends. As I wished some costumes altered, I employed her for a few weeks."
"Is she here now, Mrs. Dacre?"
"Oh dear no. She finished her work, and I dismissed her some weeks ago."
"Do you happen to have her address?"
"No, indeed, I have not. What should I do with such a person's address. I engaged the woman; she did my bidding; I dismissed her. I am not likely ever to see her again. May I ask (this with increasing stateliness) if this person is a friend of yours?"
"No, I have not even seen her," replied Mallow, hastily; "but a lady friend of mine in the country requires a maid, and she heard that Mrs. Arne had one for whom she wished to find a situation."
Mrs. Dacre grew scarlet with anger. "Absurd--ridiculous!" she burst out. "Why, Mrs. Arne was quite a common person; clever with her needle, I admit, and quite respectful. But the idea of her recommending a maid!"
"Nevertheless she did so," said Mallow, taking a delight in touching upon the weak spot of the purse-proud little lady. "My friend wrote to Mrs. Arne at this address, and received this reply." As Mrs. Dacre's eyes, through the medium of her double glasses, fell on the letter which Mallow placed in her hand, she almost screeched.