"All right," she said after a bit. "I'll see what I can do. If you'll show me where the things are ..."
It was a much humbler sort of job, of course, designing a hat for a middle-aged village spinster, than making those dozen gowns for Goldsmith and Block had been. But this consideration never occurred to her. She found, and was not even amazed to find, the same thrill of exhilaration in conquering the small problem, that she had found in the larger one. She worked with the same swift unconscious economy of labor and materials.
At the end of two hours, she presented the result of her labors for the milliner's approval.
Miss Gibbons surveyed it with a smile of ironic appreciation.
"It isn't what I'd call a real finished job," she commented after a minute inspection of some of the details of Rose's sewing. "I wouldn't trust it in a high wind not to scatter all the way from here to the Presbyterian church. But it will certainly suit Agatha Stebbins."
She looked at it a while longer. "And I don't know," she concluded a little reluctantly, "as it'll look so all-mighty foolish on her, either. Will ten dollars a week suit you to begin on?"
"Yes," said Rose, "that will suit me very well indeed."
"All right," said Miss Gibbons. "That's settled. There's one more thing to settle now, and that's where you're going to live."
Rose contemplated this question a little blankly for a moment.
"Do you suppose," she said, "there's any place in this town where I can live; where they'd take a person like me? Or would it be all right, if you asked them?"