Yetta had not intended to lose her temper, either. But she had been too tired and storm-tossed to be thoughtful. She was flooded by an insolent recklessness. Mabel Train did not need to put on airs, just because she had had a better education.
"Neither," she said defiantly. "I'm drawing my salary from the Woman's Trade Union League. If they don't like my work, all they've got to do is to tell me."
A stenographer giggled.
Yetta walked over to her letter-box and looked over her mail.
"Am I to understand that you are offering me your resignation?" Mabel asked.
"Oh, no! I was just making a general statement. Any time the Advisory Council want my resignation they can get it by asking."
Suddenly Yetta wanted to cry.
"What's the use of quarrelling?" she said contritely, coming over to Mabel's desk. "I'm all done up. Haven't had any sleep lately. Cross as a bear. I'll go home—a couple of hours' sleep will do me good. I'm sorry I—"
Her eye fell on the envelope of Walter's note. His well-loved handwriting stared at her—jeeringly. What did he have to say to Mabel? The apology died on her lips.