“I thought,” said Joan diffidently, “that I might perhaps get a situation as one of those girls in shops whom they use to hang cloaks on for the approval of customers. You see, I am—tall, and I am not clever enough to teach, so I know nothing else for which I should be fit.”
Mrs. Bird shook her head. “I dare say that you might come by such employment, my dear, but I tell you at once that I do not approve of it. I know something of the wickedness of London, and I think that this sort of occupation puts too many temptations in the way of a young lady like you, who are so beautiful, and do not seem to have any home ties to keep your thoughts from them. We are most of us weak, remember; and flattery, and promises, and grand presents, all of which would be offered to you, are very nice things.”
“I am not afraid of such temptations, Mrs. Bird,” Joan answered, with a sad confidence that at once attracted the quick little woman’s attention.
“Now, when a person tells me that she is not afraid of a thing,” she said, glancing at her, “I conclude that she is either totally without experience and foolhardy, or that, having won the experience and passed through the fire, she no longer fears a danger which she has overcome, or——” and she stopped.
This vein of speculative reflection did not seem to recommend itself to Joan: at any rate she changed the subject.
“You have twice called me a lady, Mrs. Bird,” she said, “but I must tell you that I am nothing of the sort. Who my father was I don’t even know, though I believe him to have been a gentleman, and my mother was the daughter of a yeoman farmer.”
“Married?” asked Mrs. Bird interrogatively.
Joan shook her head.
“Ah! I understand,” said Mrs. Bird.
“I—That is partly why I left home,” explained Joan.