“Send her up.”
In a few seconds Hopkins reopened the door, and looked down with majestic condescension on a smart young girl whom he ushered into the room.
“That will do; you may go—stay, post this letter. Come here, young woman.”
The young woman, who was evidently a respectable servant-girl, approached with some timidity.
“Your name is Matty Merryon, I understand (yes, sir), at least so your late mistress, Miss Tippet, informs me. Pray, what does Matty stand for?”
“Martha, sir.”
“Well, Martha, Miss Tippet gives you a very good character—which is well, because I intend you to be servant to my child—her maid; but Miss Tippet qualifies her remarks by saying that you are a little careless in some things. What things are you careless in?”
“La! sir—”
“You must not say ‘La!’ my girl,” interrupted Mr Auberly with a frown, “nor use exclamations of any kind in my presence; what are the ‘some things’ referred to?”
“Sure I don’t know, sir,” said the abashed Matty. “I s’pose there’s a-many things I ain’t very good at; but, please, sir, I don’t mean to do nothin’ wrong, sir, I don’t indeed; an’ I’ll try to serve you well, sir, if it wor only to plaaze my missis, as I’m leavin’ against my will, for I love my—”