"Sixteen pounds is more than I can afford, but I'll think it over. Give me your name and address."
"Esther Waters, 13 Poplar Road, Dulwich."
As Esther turned to go she became aware of the kindness of the eyes that looked at her. Miss Rice said—
"I'm afraid you're in trouble…. Sit down; tell me about it."
"No, miss, what's the use?" But Miss Rice looked at her so kindly that Esther could not restrain herself. "There's nothing for it," she said, "but to go back to the workhouse."
"But why should you go to the workhouse? I offer you fourteen pounds a year and everything found."
"You see, miss, I've a baby; we've been in the workhouse already; I had to go there the night I left my situation, to get him away from Mrs. Spires; she wanted to kill him; she'd have done it for five pounds—that's the price. But, miss, my story is not one that can be told to a lady such as you."
"I think I'm old enough to listen to your story; sit down, and tell it to me."
And all the while Miss Rice's eyes were filled with tenderness and pity.
"A very sad story—just such a story as happens every day. But you have been punished, you have indeed."