CHAPTER THE FOURTH.

RIDLEY’S AGENCY-OFFICE.

Now and then, when I ventured out into the streets, a panic would seize me, a dread unutterably great, that I might meet my husband amid the crowd.  I did not even know that he was in London; he had always spoken of it as a place he detested.  His habits made the free, unconventional life upon the Continent more agreeable to him.  How he was living now, what he was doing, where he was, were so many enigmas to me; and I did not care to run any risk in finding out the answers to them.  Twice I passed the Bank of Australia, where very probably.  I could have learned if he was in the same city as myself; but I dared not do it, and as soon as I knew how to avoid that street, I never passed along it.

I had been allowed to leave my address with the clerk of a large general agency in the city, when I had not been permitted to enter my name in the books for want of a reference.  Toward the close of October I received a note from him, desiring me to call at the office at two o’clock the following afternoon, without fail.

No danger of my failing to keep such an appointment!  I felt in better spirits that night than I had done since I had been driven from Sark.  There was an opening for me, a chance of finding employment, and I resolved beforehand to take it, whatever it might be.

It was an agency for almost every branch of employment not actually menial, from curates to lady’s-maids, and the place of business was a large one.  There were two entrances, and two distinct compartments, at the opposite ends of the building; but a broad, long counter ran the whole length of it, and a person at one end could see the applicants at the other as they stood by the counter.  The compartment into which I entered was filled with a crowd of women, waiting their turn to transact their business.  Behind the counter were two or three private boxes, in which employers might see the candidates, and question them on the spot.  A lady was at that moment examining a governess, in a loud, imperious voice which we could all hear distinctly.  My heart sank at the idea of passing through such a cross-examination as to my age, my personal history, my friends, and a number of particulars foreign to the question of whether I was fit for the work I offered myself for.

At last I heard the imperious voice say, “You may go.  I do not think you will suit me,” and a girl of about my own age came away from the interview, pale and trembling, and with tears stealing down her cheeks.  A second girl was summoned to go through the same ordeal.

What was I to do if this person, unseen in her chamber of torture, was the lady I had been summoned to meet?

It was a miserable sight, this crowd of poor women seeking work, and my spirits sank like lead.  A set of mournful, depressed, broken-down women!  There was not one I would have chosen to be a governess for my girls.  Those who were not dispirited were vulgar and self-asserting; a class that wished to rise above the position they were fitted for by becoming teachers.  These were laughing loudly among themselves at the cross-questioning going on so calmly within their hearing.  I shrank away into a corner, until my turn to speak to the busy clerk should come.