“And—er—can you—er—get up in the morning without being called?”
“Oh yes, miss; I’m fond of early rising. It’s never any trouble to me to get up.”
“And—er—we are rather a large family, and I am very particular. Are you quite strong and able to work?”
“Oh yes, miss; quite strong, miss. Never had a day’s illness in my life.”
“And—er—(there must be other questions to ask, but it’s terribly difficult to think of them. I can’t ask her to her face if she is honest and sober—it’s absurd,” thought Hilary in despair). “And—er—er—I suppose you are good-tempered, and would not quarrel with the other servants?”
“Oh yes, miss. Oh no, miss. All my mistresses would say for me, I’m sure, miss, that there never was a girl with a sweeter temper. I couldn’t hurt a fly, miss, I’m sure I couldn’t, I’ve such a tender heart.”
(“I’m sure she has nothing of the kind. I don’t like her a bit; but, oh dear! what can I do? If she goes on agreeing with all I say, I have no excuse for telling her that she won’t suit.”)
“And—er—you would have to attend to all the bedrooms, and the schoolroom, and help the parlour-maid with the waiting. If you have not been accustomed to a large family, I am afraid you would find it a heavy place.”
“Oh no, miss; not too heavy, miss. I’m never so happy as when I’m working. I’ve been brought up to work.”
“Yes—but—but—but I’m afraid you would not suit me,” cried Hilary, summoning the courage in despair, and determined, at all costs, to put an end to the interview. “I won’t trouble you to