“Dear madame, if I agree to any of the hard things you uttaire against your husband now, you will be indignant with poor Finette when you make up your love quarrel with him.”
Finette had not attained the age of forty years without becoming a clever student of feminine nature. She was too astute to abuse her master. She knew well that the capricious woman before her would like her better for defending him.
Mrs. de Vere bit her lip and answered sharply:
“You are too pert, Finette; but it matters not what you believe—I have my own opinion, and it is unchangeable.”
“Pardon, dear madame,” replied the polite and indefatigable maid.
Mrs. de Vere scowled at her, but smiled a minute after, and asked eagerly:
“Finette, would you like to earn a hundred dollars to-night?”
“Only tell me how, madame!” cried the woman, her small black eyes glittering avariciously.
“Very well. Steal that child from my mother-in-law’s room, take it away from here and place it with some one who will keep it forever away from Norman de Vere, and I will pay you a hundred dollars in the morning.”
“But, madame, it is so late! It is now long past the midnight hour. There is scarce time.”