“I have said I am not afraid,” interrupted Diana, with a touch of pride. “If you doubt my word, let me go,—but if you are disposed to engage me, please accept me at my own valuation.”
He laughed, and his face lightened with kindliness and humour.
“I like that!” he said. “I see you have some spirit! Good! Now, to business. I have made up my mind that you will suit me,—and you have also apparently made up your mind that I shall suit you. Very well. Your salary with me will be a thousand a year——”
Diana uttered a little cry.
“A thou—a thousand a year!” she ejaculated. “Oh, you mean a thousand francs?”
“No, I don’t. I mean a thousand good British pounds sterling,—the risks you will run in working with me are quite worth that. You will have your own suite of rooms and your own special hours of leisure for private reading and study, and all your meals will be supplied, though we should like you to share them with us at our table, if you have no objection. And when you are not at work, or otherwise engaged, I should be personally very much obliged if you would be kind and companionable to my mother.”
Diana could scarcely speak; she was overwhelmed by what she considered the munificence and generosity of his offer.
“You are too good,” she faltered. “You wish to give me more than my abilities merit——”
“I must be the best judge of that,” he said, and moving to a table desk in the centre of the room he opened a drawer and took out a paper. “Will you come here and read this? And then sign it?”
She went to his side, and taking the paper from his hand, read it carefully through. It was an agreement, simply and briefly worded, which bound her as confidential assistant and private secretary to Féodor Dimitrius for the time of one year positively, with the understanding that this period should be extended to two years, if agreeable to both parties. Without a moment’s hesitation, she took up a pen, dipped it in ink, and signed it in a clear and very firmly characteristic way.