"I want a big salary," said Effie, looking up bravely at the two, who were watching her with half-amused, half-anxious expression. "I want to come to you, and to leave the work which I love best, because I hope you may be induced to give me an exceptional salary. I want the money because my mother and my—my young brothers and sisters are almost—at least they will be, if I don't get it, almost starving."
Effie spoke in jerks. She had the greatest difficulty in keeping back her emotion. It was dreadful to have to plead with these rich people—these people who knew nothing whatever of her sore need—to whom money was so plentiful as to have lost its freshness, its desirability, its charm. It was awful to look into their faces—to see the blank, non-comprehending stare which came into Mrs. Harvey's pretty blue eyes, and to notice the puzzled expression on the Squire's face.
"You can't mean that?" he exclaimed. "You can't mean there's any chance of that?"
"There is a chance of it, but not if I come here. I know how kind you are, how noble you have been to me. I'll come to Freda. I'll do everything for her; I'll teach her, and I'll play with her, and I'll love her, and I'll nurse her if she is ill, but oh, do please be generous and give me as big a salary as you can."
"What do you expect—what do you think fair?" asked the Squire.
"I thought—I know it seems a great deal, but I thought you might be willing to give me sixty pounds a year."
"Bless you, my dear child!" exclaimed the Squire; "if you'll accept it, we'll give you a hundred and fifty."
"No, I couldn't accept that," said Effie. "It is not fair."
"Why not? We couldn't get anyone else to exactly take your place for the money; and remember we have plenty of money."
"I'll take a hundred a year, because I am in sore distress," said Effie, after a brief pause; "and—and will you pay me monthly, and may I have my first month's salary in advance? I wouldn't ask it if they didn't want it terribly at home. Will you do this?"