frock wandered down the street, and I, returning to my book, lost sight and thought of her.
In the drawing-room, before dinner, Mrs. Norris explained to me that, in consideration of the arrival of a new boarder, she had engaged a girl as a sort of "understudy" for the other servants, and to work between them in the capacity of general help and factotum. The girl was young, she came from Surrey, and her name was Martha. Mrs. Norris hoped that she would turn out well, but the training of young girls was always an experiment; she had known few who repaid the trouble expended upon them. This much she told me—the rest I supplied for myself. Help, in our overworked household, was imperatively needed, and a girl from the country (despite the drawbacks of her ignorance and lack of training) would cost little in keep and less in wages. In fact, properly managed, she should prove a good investment.
Late that evening I met a quaint little figure upon the stairs, and instantly recognised the limp, broad-brimmed hat, and the shabby jacket, frayed at collar and at cuffs. Our new maid-servant and the girl who had that afternoon attracted my attention in the street represented the same identity. She drew aside to let me pass, shrinking timidly against the wall; but, by a sudden impulse, I stopped and spoke to her. The gas-light fell on the glasses of her spectacles, so that I could not catch the expression of her large, short-sighted eyes; but I saw that the eyelids were red and swollen and I guessed that she had been crying.
"So you found the house after all," I said. "You must have got very wet out there in the rain."
"Yes, m'm," she answered, and saluted me with a quick, bobbing curtesy. She expressed no curiosity as to how I came to know that she had at first been unable, in the driving mist, to discover number 127. To girls of her class, knowledge on every subject,
whether
