Florence said she had come after the post which Mrs. Fleming was offering.
The charwoman looked dubious.
"I wouldn't if I was you," she said, in a low voice, hiding both her hands under her apron as she spoke.
Florence would not condescend to consult with the charwoman whether she was to accept the situation or not. She simply said: "Will you tell your mistress that I am here?"
"A wilful lass," muttered the old woman, "and I told her she had better not." She shambled across a dirty passage, and opened a door at the farther end. A moment later Florence found herself in the presence of a tall woman with a very much powdered face and untidy hair. This personage was dressed in rusty black, wore a dirty collar and cuffs, and had hands evidently long strangers to soap-and-water. She invited Florence to seat herself, and looked her all over.
"H'm! you've come after the situation. Your name, please."
"Florence Aylmer."
"Your age?"
"I am nearly twenty-one."
"Very young. Have you had experience in controlling the follies of youth?"