“She does; will you walk in?”
I pique myself somewhat on the power of judging character, and there was something about this applicant which inspired hope; so that, before I introduced her into the room, I felt it necessary to enlighten my mother with a little of my wisdom. I therefore whispered in her ear, with the decisive tone of an eldest son, “I think, mother, this one will do; you had better engage her at once.”
“Have you lived out much?” said my mother, commencing the usual inquiries.
“I have not, ma’am. I am but lately come to the city.”
“Are you Irish?”
“No, ma’am; I am American.”
“Have you been accustomed to the care of the table,—silver, glass, and china?”
“I think, ma’am, I understand what is necessary for that.”
All this while the speaker remained standing with her veil down; her answers seemed to be the briefest possible; and yet, notwithstanding the homely plainness of her dress, there was something about her that impressed both my mother and me with an idea of cultivation and refinement above her apparent station,—there was a composure and quiet decision in her manner of speaking which produced the same impression on us both.
“What wages do you expect?” said my mother.