“What wages am I to expect?” and the clear young voice rang with intense scorn.
“Wages?”
“Yes, wages. What did she pay Maggie Flynn?” Star demanded, with a bitter smile.
“Six dollars a month; but—but I don’t think madam has thought about wages for you. She is to give you a home for what you can do; and besides what I have told you, you are to wait upon Miss Josephine, who is not sparing of her commands, either.”
“Who is Miss Josephine, pray?”
“The young lady of the house—Mrs. Richards’ daughter.”
“How old is she?”
“Just turned eighteen.”
“Two years my senior,” murmured Star, reflectively. “Well, Mrs. Blunt,” she added, after a moment or two, and looking up with a clearer face, “show me to my room, please, and let me have a good bath, for I need refreshing sadly. If only I might have some clean underclothing to put on,” she added, wistfully.
“You shall,” the woman quickly returned. “I suppose madam never thought of it, and it is a shame. There, wait here,” she added, as she threw open the door of a small room on the front of the house in the third story, “and I will bring you a change of Miss Josephine’s. They will be a trifle too large, but never mind so that you’re comfortable.”