Marie lifted her skirt a trifle and couldn’t find anything. Caston got out of his chair and came round.
“You’re not lookin’,” he said severely. “Look, here.” He pulled her skirt well above her knees, and she promptly smacked his hand and hastily pulled it down.
“I might have known it,” she said bitterly. “Just another of your tricks.”
Caston beamed at her. “Well, maybe I was mistaken,” he said, sitting on the edge of the desk and reaching for her hand. “But I might not have been, you know.”
She allowed her hand to remain in his big pink fingers, and she waited, her neat shoe tapping impatiently on the polished boards. “When you’re through with all this,” she said, “suppose we get to work?”
Caston shook his head. “I’ll never train you,” he said sadly. “You know, baby, you and me might get somewhere if only you’d co−operate.”
Marie sniffed. “The one place I’d get to if I did would be a maternity hospital,” she said acidly, snatching her hand away. “Shall we get to work?”
Caston sighed. You never knew with women. Some mornings Marie was quite willing for a little fun and games. He got off the desk and sat down in his chair. He looked at her closely. She certainly looked tired and irritable. Being a man of the world, he didn’t pursue the matter, and began to dictate the few letters that required his attention.
It was ten o’clock by the time he was through, and he dismissed her with a kind smile. “Listen, baby, if you don’t feel well take the rest of the day off. I’ve got to go out in a while and I don’t think I’ll be back. Just please yourself, will you?”
She looked at him suspiciously and then went out. Caston sat back in his chair and frowned. This was not starting the day well. Why the hell couldn’t people be a bit more lively?