“Fancy taking out your money’s worth by sitting there ‘till one is suited,’” cried Lucy, when they were once more outside in the fresh air.
“And did you see, Florence, the cousin’s address is at Willesden, and I shall have to lose another whole November day’s light in going there.”
“No, you needn’t,” said Florence, “not if you’ll trust me. I’ve an acquaintance at Willesden to whom I owe a call, so if you like I’ll kill the two birds with one stone. If everything is satisfactory, I’ll engage this woman on your behalf, and send you a wire that it is all right, and naming the day when she can come. You’ll be glad of her as soon as possible. I promised you I’d see you through this, Luce.”
Lucy was glad to feel that the said promise had not been absolutely forgotten, and she gratefully accepted the offered help.
“Of course, she’s too old. I don’t advise you to take her, remember that,” Florence went on. “But your heart is set on it.”
“I can’t bear to talk of such a woman as being ‘too old,’” cried Lucy. “I hope nobody will think me ‘too old’ when I am forty-five! Such years have not reached the infirmities of age, and if they have lost something, surely they have gained more. She may not run upstairs as quickly as a girl, but she must have sense and experience, and can be safely left in charge of the house, which is most important when I have outdoor engagements.”
“You being so determined to have her, and she so eager to come,” remarked Florence, “I think you might have brought down the wages a little.”
“Why, you told me I should have to offer more!” said Lucy, aghast.
“Yes; but people don’t care for servants with grey hair. If she’d an ounce of savoir faire, she’d have dyed it.”
“Oh, horrid, horrid, Florence!” exclaimed Lucy. “I can’t bear to hear you talk so. It was the grey hair which helped her to look so nice.”