"Well, what can I do for you?" she said. "How are you? Why, you are a nurse--you are in nurse's dress--how capital! What a splendid idea!"

"Yes, I am a probationer at St. Joseph's," said Effie.

"Oh my dear child, that's splendid for you, of course; but I trust you have brought no infection in your clothes."

"No," said Effie, with the faintest of smiles. "I have nothing to do with any of the infectious wards. I am quite safe. I want to speak to you."

"I shall be very glad to listen to you, my dear. You know, of course, that the Squire and I take the deepest interest in you and in your family. By the way, how is your dear mother, and how are all those pretty girls and boys getting on?"

Effie could not remember that Mrs. Harvey had ever seen her mother--why, therefore, should she speak of her as "dear"? and as to the boys and girls, they were not specially remarkable for their good looks, and if they were, Mrs. Harvey knew nothing about it. She answered these conventional inquiries in a quiet voice.

"I hope you'll forgive me," she said, at the first possible pause, "but I am in a very great hurry. I have promised to be back again at St.

Joseph's at five o'clock, and it's nearly four now. May I tell you what I really came about?"

"Oh, yes, of course, of course!"

"Do you remember, before I came to London, the very kind offer you and the Squire made me?"

"Of course," said Mrs. Harvey, "if you mean our wish that you should become governess to little Freda. But Freda goes to a kindergarten now.

Carey takes her around every morning, and Rhoda goes to fetch her at dinner time. The life seems to suit her very well. Of course we did wish for you very much, but as you could not come--oh, no doubt you have chosen wisely."

Mrs. Harvey yawned; she stretched out her hand and rang the bell. The servant appeared almost immediately.

"Tea for two," she said, "and be quick, Andrews."

"I can't wait for tea," said Effie, rising. "I am very much obliged. I only came to say that circ.u.mstances would make me inclined to accept your offer now, but as you don't want a governess there's nothing more to be said."

"Oh, it's so sweetly good of you, Miss Staunton, and had matters been different we should have been pleased. Well, good-by, if you must go.

Where did you say your mother lived?"

"A long way from here."

"But do give me her address. I should be so pleased to drive round and see her some day. Perhaps she would go for a drive with me. What a good idea! Yes, I'll come. Where did you say you lived?"

Effie had not said anything.

Mrs. Harvey held out her limp, long hand. "Good-by, Miss Staunton. You know I take a great interest in you," she exclaimed.

CHAPTER XX.

Just at this moment the door was opened, and the Squire came in. He was of different stuff from his wife. When he saw Effie, his face beamed with pleasure, and he held out a big, hearty hand.

"Miss Staunton!" he exclaimed. "Why, this is a pleasure! Oh, you must not run away; you must sit down and tell me all about yourself--I've been longing to hear about you. How is your brother in the City, and your mother? I do hope she is a little better. And all those other lads and la.s.ses? Sit down, my clear child, I insist on it--I have lots of things to say to you."

Mrs. Harvey, who was standing near the mantelpiece, came gently forward when the Squire began to speak. She looked at Effie with new interest.

Her face was long and pale, she had no color in her lips, her light hair was very fashionably dressed. She wore a dress of the latest mode, and her thin fingers were loaded with rings, which flashed and shone whenever she moved her hand.

Effie hated those flashing rings--she turned her head so that she need not see them.

Mrs. Harvey began to talk in a high falsetto voice to her husband.

"Do you know, my dear," she exclaimed, "that Miss Staunton has just been so kind? She came here to offer her services for Freda; but you know dear Freda is getting on so capitally at the kindergarten, that---- Why, what in the world is the matter, Walter?"

"Matter!" exclaimed the Squire in his hearty voice. "Why, that we won't be such fools as to reject Miss Staunton's offer. I was told only a few minutes ago that that kindergarten is simply full of whooping-cough and measles--children sickening with them and going home almost every day. I was going to say that Freda must be moved."

"Oh, I should think so, indeed," said Mrs. Harvey. "Whooping-cough and measles! how terrible! and I never had whooping-cough--why, I shouldn't be able to go out for the whole season. I do hope and trust the dear child hasn't contracted the infection. Dear Miss Staunton, of course you'll come. It is exactly what we'd like best. How soon can you come?--to-morrow?--to-night?"

"Neither to-morrow nor to-night," said Effie. "But if you really wish for me, and if we agree as regards terms, the day after to-morrow."

"What do you mean by saying if we agree as to terms?" asked Mrs. Harvey.

"I want a big salary," said Effie, looking up bravely at the two, who were watching her with half-amused, half-anxious expression. "I want to come to you, and to leave the work which I love best, because I hope you may be induced to give me an exceptional salary. I want the money because my mother and my--my young brothers and sisters are almost--at least they will be, if I don't get it, almost starving."

Effie spoke in jerks. She had the greatest difficulty in keeping back her emotion. It was dreadful to have to plead with these rich people--these people who knew nothing whatever of her sore need--to whom money was so plentiful as to have lost its freshness, its desirability, its charm. It was awful to look into their faces--to see the blank, non-comprehending stare which came into Mrs. Harvey's pretty blue eyes, and to notice the puzzled expression on the Squire's face.

"You can't mean that?" he exclaimed. "You can't mean there's any chance of that?"

"There is a chance of it, but not if I come here. I know how kind you are, how n.o.ble you have been to me. I'll come to Freda. I'll do everything for her; I'll teach her, and I'll play with her, and I'll love her, and I'll nurse her if she is ill, but oh, do please be generous and give me as big a salary as you can."

"What do you expect--what do you think fair?" asked the Squire.

"I thought--I know it seems a great deal, but I thought you might be willing to give me sixty pounds a year."

"Bless you, my dear child!" exclaimed the Squire; "if you'll accept it, we'll give you a hundred and fifty."

"No, I couldn't accept that," said Effie. "It is not fair."

"Why not? We couldn't get anyone else to exactly take your place for the money; and remember we have plenty of money."

"I'll take a hundred a year, because I am in sore distress," said Effie, after a brief pause; "and--and will you pay me monthly, and may I have my first month's salary in advance? I wouldn't ask it if they didn't want it _terribly_ at home. Will you do this?"

"Yes, with pleasure," said the Squire. "I insist on your accepting ten pounds a month--that will be one hundred and twenty a year. Now, will you have a check, or shall I give you the money in gold and notes?"

"The gold will be the most acceptable," said Effie. "Oh, I feel so ashamed!" she added.

"Why should you? You give us an equivalent. Besides, it makes matters more tolerable. I cannot forget----"

"Oh, don't, Walter--don't allude to that awful time!"--cried Mrs.

Harvey.

The Squire shut up his lips. He took a little bundle of gold out of one of his pockets and put ten sovereigns into Effie's hand.

"It is a bargain," he said. "I cannot tell you how relieved we are.

You'll be with us the morning after next? Elfreda, my love, we must tell our little Freda what a pleasure is in store for her."