“I am getting on,” she answered, “very well indeed. The Editor is beginning to say very nice things to me, and already the men treat me just as though I were a comrade! It is so nice of them!”
“Is it?” he muttered doubtfully.
“I have just finished,” she continued, “the most important piece of work they have trusted me with yet, and I have been awfully lucky. I have been to interview a millionaire!”
“A man?”
She nodded. “Of course!”
“It isn't fit work for you,” he exclaimed hastily.
“You will forgive me if I consider myself the best judge of that,” she answered coldly. “I am a journalist, and so long as it is honest work my sex doesn't count. If every one whom I have to see is as courteous to me as Mr. Trent has been, I shall consider myself very lucky indeed.”
“As who?” he cried.
She looked up at him in surprise. They were at the corner of the Strand, but as though in utter forgetfulness of their whereabouts, he had suddenly stopped short and gripped her tightly by the arm. She shook herself free with a little gesture of annoyance.
“Whatever is the matter with you, Cecil? Don't gape at me like that, and come along at once, unless you want to be left behind. Yes, we are very short-handed and the chief let me go down to see Mr. Trent. He didn't expect for a moment that I should get him to talk to me, but I did, and he let me sketch the house. I am awfully pleased with myself I can tell you.”