Bread endeavored
to comply with these directions. She was not playing at being fluttered,
which would have been simply ridiculous; she was doing her best to carry
herself as a person so humble that, for her, even embarrassment would
have been pretentious; but evidently she had never dreamed of its being
in her horoscope to pay a visit, at night-fall, to a friendly single
gentleman who lived in theatrical-looking rooms on one of the new
Boulevards.
"I truly hope I am not forgetting my place, sir," she murmured.
"Forgetting your place?" cried Newman. "Why, you are remembering it.
This is your place, you know. You are already in my service; your wages,
as housekeeper, began a fortnight ago. I can tell you my house wants
keeping! Why don't you take off your bonnet and stay?"
"Take off my bonnet?" said Mrs. Bread, with timid literalness. "Oh, sir,
I haven't my cap. And with your leave, sir, I couldn't keep house in my
best gown."
"Never mind your gown," said Newman, cheerfully. "You shall have a
better gown than that."
Mrs. Bread stared solemnly and then stretched her hands over her
lustreless satin skirt, as if the perilous side of her situation were
defining itself. "Oh, sir, I am fond of my own clothes," she murmured.
"I hope you have left those wicked people, at any rate," said Newman.
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