Читать книгу Mrs. Gailey онлайн

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But she had made a bad start, having failed for some reason to recommend herself to that snooty old bitch. How could Sylvia have said that Mrs. Winrow was charming? Sylvia's geese were always swans, of course. She was probably just as wrong about the daughter. What had she said about her? "So sweet and clever." So clever that she didn't know Thursday from Friday? But as long as she remembered to pay one's salary . . .

That was it. The money was good. Any job was worth putting up with at eight pounds a week and "all found"—found in a beautiful, historic manor house, where there still were servants. Sylvia had said that Mrs. Winrow kept a staff both at Doleham and in London. There could not be much to put up with under such conditions, even if her employer was bats. But perhaps the question was not so much one of putting up as of holding down. She wished her typing wasn't so rusty. If only she had finished her course at the College before she married Phil . . . If only she could have got hold of a machine to practice on before she came. But she depended less on her typing than on her gift for making people like her. She mustn't let Mrs. Winrow make her lose her confidence in that pleasant manner which for so long had kept her in jobs she might otherwise have lost for lack of skill. This was her big chance and she must take it.