She was young (that was one chance in my favour!)—plump, florid, and evidently not by any means careless about her personal appearance (that gave me another!) As she saw me approaching her, she smiled; and passed her apron hurriedly over her face—carefully polishing it for my inspection, much as a broker polishes a piece of furniture when you stop to look at it.
“Are you in Mr. Sherwin’s service?”—I asked, as I got to the garden gate.
“As plain cook, Sir,” answered the girl, administering to her face a final and furious rub of the apron.
“Should you be very much surprised if I asked you to do me a great favour?”
“Well—really, Sir—you’re quite a stranger to me—I’m sure I don’t know!” She stopped, and transferred the apron-rubbing to her arms.
“I hope we shall not be strangers long. Suppose I begin our acquaintance, by telling you that you would look prettier in brighter cap-ribbons, and asking you to buy some, just to see whether I am not right?”
“It’s very kind of you to say so, Sir; and thank you. But cap and ribbons are the last things I can buy while I’m in this place. Master’s master and missus too, here; and drives us half wild with the fuss he makes about our caps and ribbons. He’s such an austerious man, that he will have our caps as he likes ’em. It’s bad enough when a missus meddles with a poor servant’s ribbons; but to have master come down into the kitchen, and—Well, it’s no use telling you of it, Sir—and—and thank you, Sir, for what you’ve given me, all the same!”
“I hope this is not the last time I shall make you a present. And now I must come to the favour I want to ask of you: can you keep a secret?”