"Oh, does it?" she laughed at me. "Two and two are making about three and a half this afternoon, are they?"
"What we've got to-day ought to land something," I maintained. "You've been fine help, Barbara—" and I broke off suddenly with the knowledge that I'd been calling her that all through the rush of the work.
"Thank you." She smiled inclusively. I knew she meant my use of her name as well as my commendation. I began clearing my desk preparatory to leaving. Worth was going to take her home and as he brought her coat, he spoke again of the suitcase.
"Hey, there!" I remonstrated, "You don't want to be lugging that thing with you everywhere, like a three-year-old kid that's found a dead cat. Leave it where it is."
"Give me an order for it then," he said. And when I looked surprised, "Might need that box, and you not be in the office."
"Need it?" I grumbled. "I'd like to know what for."
But I scribbled the order. Over by the window the young people were talking together earnestly; they made a picture against the light, standing close, the girl's vivid dark face raised, the lad's tall head bent, attentive.
"But, Bobs, you must get some time to play about," I heard Worth say.
"Awfully little," Her look up at him was like that of a wistful child.
"You said you were in the accounting department," he urged impatiently. "A lightning calculator like you could put that stuff through in about one tenth of the usual time."