uietly. ''And she still ain''t said.''
Then, again they all looked at me; and their eyes made me nervous. I turned my head. ''I don''t know,'' I said. ''It seems a rum sort of plot to me. Set me up, as maid to a lady? How shall I know what to do?''
''We can teach you,'' said Gentleman. ''Dainty can teach you, since she knows the business. How hard can it be? You must only sit and simper, and hold the lady''s salts.''
I said, ''Suppose the lady won''t want me for her maid? Why should she want me?''
But he had thought of that. He had thought of everything. He said he meant to pass me off as his old nurse''s sister''s child—a city girl come on hard times. He said he thought the lady would take me then, for his sake.
He said, ''We''ll write you a character—sign it Lady Fanny of Bum Street, something like that—she won''t know any better. She never saw Society, doesn''t know London from Jerusalem. Who can she ask?''
''I don''t know,'' I said again. ''Suppose she don''t care for you, so much as you are hoping?''
He grew modest. ''Well,'' he said, ''I think I might be permitted by now, to know when a green girl likes me.''
''Suppose,'' said Mrs Sucksby then, ''she don''t like you quite
enough? Suppose she turns out another Miss Bamber or Miss
Finch?''
Miss Bamber and Miss Finch were two of the other heiresses he had almost netted. But he heard their names, and snorted. ''She won''t,'' he said, ''turn out like them, I know it. Those girls had fathers—ambitious fathers, with lawyers on every side. This girl''s uncle can see no further than the last page of his book. As to her not liking me enough—well, I can only say this: I think she will.''