“What a happy family the Carrols must be!” for the house was one of an imposing block in a West End square, which had its own little park where a fountain sparkled in the autumn sunshine, and pretty children played among the fallen leaves.

Mrs. Carrol was a stately woman, still beautiful in spite of her fifty years.  But though there were few lines on her forehead, few silver threads in the dark hair that lay smoothly over it, and a gracious smile showed the fine teeth, an indescribable expression of unsubmissive sorrow touched the whole face, betraying that life had brought some heavy cross, from which her wealth could purchase no release, for which her pride could find no effectual screen.

She looked at Christie with a searching eye, listened attentively when she spoke, and seemed testing her with covert care as if the place she was to fill demanded some unusual gift or skill.

“Miss Tudor tells me that you read aloud well, sing sweetly, possess a cheerful temper, and the quiet, patient ways which are peculiarly grateful to an invalid,” began Mrs. Carrol, with that keen yet wistful gaze, and an anxious accent in her voice that went to Christie’s heart.

“Miss Tudor is very kind to think so well of me and my few accomplishments.  I have never been with an invalid, but I think I can promise to be patient, willing, and cheerful.  My own experience of illness has taught me how to sympathize with others and love to lighten pain.  I shall be very glad to try if you think I have any fitness for the place.”

“I do,” and Mrs. Carrol’s face softened as she spoke, for something in Christie’s words or manner seemed to please her.  Then slowly, as if the task was a hard one, she added: 

“My daughter has been very ill and is still weak and nervous.  I must hint to you that the loss of one very dear to her was the cause of the illness and the melancholy which now oppresses her.  Therefore we must avoid any thing that can suggest or recall this trouble.  She cares for nothing as yet, will see no one, and prefers to live alone.  She is still so feeble this is but natural; yet solitude is bad for her, and her physician thinks that a new face might rouse her, and the society of one in no way connected with the painful past might interest and do her good.  You see it is a little difficult to find just what we want, for a young companion is best, yet must be discreet and firm, as few young people are.”

Fancying from Mrs. Carrol’s manner that Miss Tudor had said more in her favor than had been repeated to her, Christie in a few plain-words told her little story, resolving to have no concealments here, and feeling that perhaps her experiences might have given her more firmness and discretion than many women of her age possessed.  Mrs. Carrol seemed to find it so; the anxious look lifted a little as she listened, and when Christie ended she said, with a sigh of relief: 

“Yes, I think Miss Tudor is right, and you are the one we want.  Come and try it for a week and then we can decide.  Can you begin to-day?” she added, as Christie rose.  “Every hour is precious, for my poor girl’s sad solitude weighs on my heart, and this is my one hope.”