The next day, when I called, she told me the lady she’d in mind was a niece of hers, a Mrs. Brympton, a youngish lady, but something of an invalid, who lived all the year round at her country-place on the Hudson, owing to not being able to stand the fatigue of town life.

“Now, Hartley,” Mrs. Railton said, in that cheery way that always made me feel things must be going to take a turn for the better—­“now understand me; it’s not a cheerful place i’m sending you to.  The house is big and gloomy; my niece is nervous, vaporish; her husband—­well, he’s generally away; and the two children are dead.  A year ago, I would as soon have thought of shutting a rosy active girl like you into a vault; but you’re not particularly brisk yourself just now, are you? and a quiet place, with country air and wholesome food and early hours, ought to be the very thing for you.  Don’t mistake me,” she added, for I suppose I looked a trifle downcast; “you may find it dull, but you won’t be unhappy.  My niece is an angel.  Her former maid, who died last spring, had been with her twenty years and worshipped the ground she walked on.  She’s a kind mistress to all, and where the mistress is kind, as you know, the servants are generally good-humored, so you’ll probably get on well enough with the rest of the household.  And you’re the very woman I want for my niece:  quiet, well-mannered, and educated above your station.  You read aloud well, I think?  That’s a good thing; my niece likes to be read to.  She wants a maid that can be something of a companion:  her last was, and I can’t say how she misses her.  It’s a lonely life...Well, have you decided?”

“Why, ma’am,” I said, “I’m not afraid of solitude.”

“Well, then, go; my niece will take you on my recommendation.  I’ll telegraph her at once and you can take the afternoon train.  She has no one to wait on her at present, and I don’t want you to lose any time.”

I was ready enough to start, yet something in me hung back; and to gain time I asked, “And the gentleman, ma’am?”

“The gentleman’s almost always away, I tell you,” said Mrs. Ralston, quick-like—­“and when he’s there,” says she suddenly, “you’ve only to keep out of his way.”

I took the afternoon train and got out at D-----station at about
four o’clock.  A groom in a dog-cart was waiting, and we drove off at
a smart pace.  It was a dull October day, with rain hanging close
overhead, and by the time we turned into the Brympton Place woods
the daylight was almost gone.  The drive wound through the woods for
a mile or two, and came out on a gravel court shut in with thickets
of tall black-looking shrubs.  There were no lights in the windows,
and the house did look a bit gloomy.

I had asked no questions of the groom, for I never was one to get my notion of new masters from their other servants:  I prefer to wait and see for myself.  But I could tell by the look of everything that I had got into the right kind of house, and that things were done handsomely.  A pleasant-faced cook met me at the back door and called the house-maid to show me up to my room.  “You’ll see madam later,” she said.  “Mrs. Brympton has a visitor.”