“Then I will bid you good-morning, Mrs. Cole,” said Florence, sore at heart.
“Good-morning. You will, I think, understand my position. If you applied for a position in one of the public schools, I don’t think that your residence would be an objection.”
Florence left the house, sad and despondent. She saw that Mrs. Leighton, by her unfriendly representations, would prevent her from getting any opportunity to teach. She must seek some more humble employment.
“Well, Florence, did you get a place?” asked Mrs. O’Keefe, as she passed that lady’s stand.
“No, Mrs. O’Keefe,” answered Florence, wearily.
“And why not? Did the woman think you didn’t know enough?”
“She objected to me because I was not living in a fashionable quarter—at least that was one of her objections.”
“I’m sure you’ve got a nate, clane home, and it looks as nate as wax all the time.”
“It isn’t exactly stylish,” said Florence, with a faint smile.
“You are, at any rate. What does the woman want, I’d like to know?”