"What do you propose to do?" asked Mr. Medwin, whose manner to her had completely changed from the politely patronising to the sharply aggressive—"Do you want a situation?"
She lifted her eyes to his fat, unpromising face.
"Yes—I should like one very much—I could be a lady's maid, I think, I can sew very well. But—perhaps you would baptise me first?"
He gave a sound between a cough and a grunt.
"Eh? Baptise you?"
"Yes,—because if I am unregenerate, and my soul is not clean, as you say, no one would take me—not even as a lady's maid."
Her quaint, perfectly simple way of putting the case made him angry.
"I'm afraid you are not sufficiently aware of the importance of the sacred rite,"—he said, severely—"At your age you would need to be instructed for some weeks before you could be considered fit and worthy. Then,—you tell me you have no name!—Innocent is not a name at all for a woman—I do not know who you are—you are ignorant of your parentage—you may have been born out of wedlock—"
She coloured deeply.
"I am not sure of that," she said, in a low tone.