“But where can you go? What can you do?” said Mrs McIntyre, in a low voice.
Where, indeed? Not to the house she had just seen Annie enter; she had no claim there. Not home again, that was not to be thought of. She turned a helpless glance to the persons who seemed to hold her destiny in their hands. The lady looked annoyed; the gentleman, who had observed the girl’s excitement, asked:
“Were you ever at service before?”
“Oh, no!” said Mrs McIntyre, intending to serve Christie’s cause. “The family looked forward to something very different; but misfortunes and the death—”
She stopped, intending that her pause should be more impressive than words.
Other questions followed—Could she read and write? Could she sew? Had she ever been in the city before?—till Christie’s courage quite rose again. It ended in nothing, however, but a promise to let her know in a day or two what was decided.
In the silence that followed the closing of the streetdoor after them, Christie felt that Mrs McIntyre was not well pleased with the termination of the interview: and her first words proved it.
“You needna have been so sensitive,” she said. “It will be a long time before you get a place where everything will be to your mind. You needna expect every lady to speak to you as your own sisters would. I doubt you’ll hear no more from these people.”
But she was a good-natured and kind-hearted woman; and a glance at Christie’s miserable face stopped her.
“Never mind,” she added; “there are plenty of folk in the town will be glad to get a well-brought-up girl like you to attend to their children. But you must look cheerful, and no’ take umbrage at trifles.”