"Thirty-one."
"Occupation?"
"I've told you. Any kind of clerical work. I suppose that that means writing—and—and copying—and that sort of thing, doesn't it?"
She glanced up from her writing. "Is that what you've done?"
I nodded.
"Where? Have you any references?"
I confessed my lack of references, stating that I had just come over from France, where I had worked with a firm whose name would not carry weight in America.
"What did they do—the firm?"
I answered, wildly, "Carpets."
Another young lady was passing, tall, graceful, distinguished, air de duchesse, carrying a notebook and pencil.