"Of course," she said hastily. Something told her that if she didn't nab him on the spot he would get away from her. "Can you start in at once, Trotter?"
"We have not agreed upon the wages, madam."
"I have never paid less than forty a week," she said stiffly. "Even for bad ones," she added.
He smiled, but said nothing, apparently waiting for her to proceed.
"Would fifty a week suit you?" she asked, after a long pause. She was a little helpless.
"Quite," said he.
"It's a lot of money," she murmured. "But I like the way you speak English. By the way, let me hear you say: 'It is half after four, madam. Are you going on to Mrs. Brown's.'"
Trotter laid himself out. He said "hawf-paast," and "fou-ah," and "Meddem," and "gehing," in a way that delighted her.
"I shall be going out at three o'clock. Trotter. Be on time. I insist on punctuality."
"Very good, madam," he said, and retreated in good order. She halted him at the door.
"Above all things you mustn't let any of these silly women make a fool of you, Trotter," she said, a troubled gleam in her eyes.
"I will do my best, madam," he assured her.
And that very afternoon she appeared in triumph at the home of her daughter-in-law (the young Mrs. Millidew) and invited that widowed siren to go out for a spin with her "behind the stunningest creature you ever laid your eyes on."
"Where did you get him?" inquired the beautiful
