“Well, we will see about that presently,” said my employer, turning to the desk. “And now there is this——” After speaking about “the time it took to fall in love,” I thought he’d reached his limit. But no. He went further.
From a drawer that he unlocked he took out a paper that he handed to me.
“I have taken the precaution of having our whole arrangement put down in black-and-white, if you will kindly sign it here.”
—“In black-and-white!”—“sign——!”
I felt the angry colour surging up into my face; I was all the more furious because I dare not show the real rage I was in.
“Oh, yes. I’ll sign it,” I said, with desperate meekness, “if you really think it’s necessary. If you imagine that I am the kind of girl who might take advantage of our—our contract afterwards, sue you for breach of promise, or——”
“Come, come!” Still Waters interrupted briskly, peremptorily. “It’s just because I didn’t think you were ‘that kind of girl,’ amongst other reasons, that I selected you for my post. This instrument is drawn up largely on your own account. You have a pen——?”
I took it out of the case fastened to the front of my very utilitarian blue delaine blouse. I hate wearing it there. I always look upon it as the sign of servitude and the mark of the beast, but it’s the custom—and business-like.
“Right. Now, Miss Trant, I think that’s all for this morning. You can arrange to come in and take down my letters each afternoon at a quarter to three, beginning to-morrow.”
“Yes,” I said, in my meekest tone.