“Well, I don’t like to see you do it. It looks as if you were expected to do parlour-maids’ work, which you’re not.”
Chris, with a little flush of curiosity and excitement, rose from her seat, and drummed softly with her gloved finger-tips on the top of the piano. She saw the opportunity to satisfy herself on a point which had been occupying her mind.
“What am I expected to do, then, Mr. Bradfield? That’s just what I want to know.”
Mr. Bradfield looked rather amused, and did not at once reply.
“That’s what you want to know, is it?” said he at last.
“Yes. Why did you advertise for a ‘mother and daughter,’ unless you had something for the daughter to do?”
There was a short pause, during which Mr. Bradfield looked at her, and chuckled quietly, as if she amused him.
“Upon my soul, I hardly know. I think I had some sort of a notion that a woman with a daughter would settle down more contentedly, and—and wouldn’t be so likely to—to give way to bad habits.” Here Mr. Bradfield pulled himself up suddenly, recollecting that what he had really feared was an undue predilection for his old port. “You see,” he went on hastily, “I had no idea that I should have the luck to get such a—such a—well, such a magnificent person as your mother to condescend to keep house for me in my humble little home. When I advertised, I had no idea of getting my advertisement answered by a—a——”
Chris nodded intelligently.