“I came,” said Nesta, “because Mrs Hogg sent me.”
“Mrs Hogg? Hogg? You don’t mean Mary Hogg, the laundress?”
“I don’t know whether she’s a laundress or whether she’s not, but I am lodging there.”
Mrs Johnston sat still more upright. “I am lodging there for the present I know the St. Justs, but I am lodging there, and I want something to do in this place, and I thought perhaps you’d let me—oh, please don’t get so red in the face! Please don’t! Please hear me out. I thought perhaps you’d let me come and read to you, the same as the girl who went to America. Mrs Hogg said you wanted some one.”
“Mary Hogg shall never have one scrap of my washing again. What does she mean by sending me a total stranger? I shall request Mary Hogg to mind her own business.”
“Please, it isn’t her fault. I wanted a blind one, but when there wasn’t one, I thought, perhaps, you’d do.”
“What?” said Mrs Johnston.
“Some one who is blind; but you aren’t blind.”
“Thank Heavens, no! I can see quite well, and I don’t much admire your face, Miss.”
“But I could read to you. I can read, oh, so well. I have an invalid mother, and I’ve read to her, oh, stories upon stories out of the penny papers. I can read ever so quickly. I wish you’d try me. What I want is ten shillings a week, and, and—oh, not my food. I could have my food at Mrs Hogg’s. It is awfully plain—pease pudding and herrings mostly; but I don’t mind that if only you’d pay me ten shillings a week and let me come to you every day.”