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“‘I ‘ope you are good at getting up early in the morning?’ says the lady, ‘I like a gal as rises cheerfully to ‘er work.’

“‘Well, ma’am,’ says Emma, ‘I can’t say as I’ve got a passion for it. But it’s one of those things that ‘as to be done, and I guess I’ve learnt the trick.’

“‘I’m a great believer in early rising,’ says my lady; ‘in the morning, one is always fresher for one’s work; my ‘usband and the younger children breakfast at ‘arf past seven; myself and my eldest daughter ‘ave our breakfest in bed at eight.’

‘That’ll be all right, ma’am,’ says Emma.

“‘And I ‘ope,’ says the lady, ‘you are of an amiable disposition. Some gals when you ring the bell come up looking so disagreeable, one almost wishes one didn’t want them.’

“‘Well, it ain’t a thing,’ explains Emma, ‘as makes you want to burst out laughing, ‘earing the bell go off for the twentieth time, and ‘aving suddenly to put down your work at, perhaps, a critical moment. Some ladies don’t seem able to reach down their ‘at for themselves.’

“‘I ‘ope you are not impertinent,’ says the lady; ‘if there’s one thing that I object to in a servant it is impertinence.’

“‘We none of us like being answered back,’ says Emma, ‘more particularly when we are in the wrong. But I know my place ma’am, and I shan’t give you no lip. It always leads to less trouble, I find, keeping your mouth shut, rather than opening it.’

“‘Are you fond of children,’ asks my lady.

“‘It depends upon the children,’ says Emma; ‘there are some I ‘ave ‘ad to do with as made the day seem pleasanter, and I’ve come across others as I could ‘ave parted from at any moment without tears.’

“‘I like a gal,’ says the lady, ‘who is naturally fond of children, it shows a good character.’

“‘How many of them are there?’ says Emma.

“‘Four of them,’ answers my lady, ‘but you won’t ‘ave much to do except with the two youngest. The great thing with young children is to surround them with good examples. Are you a Christian?’ asks my lady.

“‘That’s what I’m generally called,’ says Emma.

“‘Every other Sunday evening out is my rule,’ says the lady, ‘but of course I shall expect you to go to church.’

“‘Do you mean in my time, ma’am,’ says Emma, ‘or in yours.’

“‘I mean on your evening of course,’ says my lady. ”Ow else could you go?’

“‘Well, ma’am,’ says Emma, ‘I like to see my people now and then.’

“‘There are better things,’ says my lady, ‘than seeing what you call your people, and I should not care to take a girl into my ‘ouse as put ‘er pleasure before ‘er religion. You are not engaged, I ‘ope?’

“‘Walking out, ma’am, do you mean?’ says Emma. ‘No, ma’am, there is nobody I’ve got in my mind–not just at present.’

“‘I never will take a gal,’ explains my lady, ‘who is engaged. I find it distracts ‘er attention from ‘er work. And I must insist if you come to me,’ continues my lady, ‘that you get yourself another ‘at and jacket. If there is one thing I object to in a servant it is a disposition to cheap finery.’

“‘Er own daughter was sitting there beside ‘er with ‘alf a dozen silver bangles on ‘er wrist, and a sort of thing ‘anging around ‘er neck, as, ‘ad it been real, would ‘ave been worth perhaps a thousand pounds. But Emma wanted a job, so she kept ‘er thoughts to ‘erself.

“‘I can put these things by and get myself something else,’ she says, ‘if you don’t mind, ma’am, advancing me something out of my first three months’ wages. I’m afraid my account at the bank is a bit overdrawn.’

“The lady whispered something to ‘er daughter. ‘I am afraid, on thinking it over,’ she says, ‘that you won’t suit, after all. You don’t look serious enough. I feel sure, from the way you do your ‘air,’ says my lady, ‘there’s a frivolous side to your nature.’