“I should so like to come,” said Fan, for they were both waiting for her to speak, “but am afraid that I can give no reference.”
“Oh, Fan, surely you can!” said the other.
“I have no friend but you, Constance; I could not write to Mary now.”
The other considered a little.
“Oh, yes; there is Mr. Northcott,” she said, then turning to the manager asked, “Will the name of a clergyman in the country place where Miss Affleck has spent the last year be sufficient?”
“Yes, that will do very well,” he said, giving her pencil and paper to write the name and address. Then he asked a few questions about Fan's attainments, and seemed pleased to hear that she had learnt dressmaking and embroidery. “So much the better,” he said. “You can come to-morrow to receive instructions about your dress, and to hear when your attendance will begin. The hours are from half-past eight to half-past six. Saturdays we close at two. You have breakfast when you come in, dinner at twelve or one, tea at four. You must find your own lodgings, and it will be better not to get them too far away.”
“May I ask you not to write about Miss Affleck until to-morrow?” Constance said. “I must write to-day first to Mr. Northcott to inform him. He will be a little surprised, I suppose, that Miss Affleck is going into a shop, but he will tell you all about her disposition, and”—with a pause and a hot blush—“her respectability.”
He smiled again grimly.
“I have no doubt that Miss Affleck is a lady by birth,” he said. “But do not run away with the idea that she is doing anything peculiar. There are several daughters of gentlemen in our house, as she will probably discover when she comes to associate with them.”
“I am glad,” said Constance, rising to go.