“French, English, and German,” said he, smiling. “Well, I can’t tell what the great world, as you put it, may call accomplishments; but I think those three enough for anybody.”
Anne smiled too. “They are only languages, Sir Robert. They are not music and drawing. Had my dear mamma suspected I should have to earn my own living, she would have had me educated for it.”
“I think it is a very hard thing that you should have to earn it,” spoke Sir Robert.
Anne glanced up through her wet eye-lashes: reminiscences of her mother always brought tears. “There’s no help for it, sir; I have not a shilling in the world.”
“And no home but one that you are ill-treated in—made to do the work of a servant? Is it not so?”
Anne coloured painfully. How did he know this? Generous to Mrs. Lewis in spite of all, she did not care to speak of it herself.
“And if people did not think me clever enough to teach, sir,” she went on, passing over his question, “I might perhaps go out to be useful in other ways. I can make French cakes and show a cook how to make French dishes; and I can read aloud well, and do all kinds of needlework. Some old lady, who has no children of her own, might be glad to have me.”
“I think many an old lady would,” said he. The remark put her in spirits. She grew animated.
“Oh, do you! I am so glad. If you should know of one, sir, would you please to tell her of me?”
Sir Robert nodded, and Anne rose to leave. He rose also.