human
DEAR LADY THETFORD--I have been fairly besieged with applications for the past week--all widows, and all professing to be thoroughly competent. Clergyman's widows, doctors' widows, officers' widows--all sorts of widows. I never before thought so many could apply for one situation. I have chosen one in sheer desperation--the widow of a country gentleman in distressed circumstances, who, I think, will suit. She is eminently respectable in appearance, quiet and lady-like in manner, with five years' experience in the nursery-governess line, and the highest recommendation from her late employers. She has lost a child, she tells me, and from her looks and manner altogether, I should judge she was a person conversant with misfortune. She will return with me early next week--her name is Mrs. Weymore.