"Why, I am afraid I forgot," he said. "In America I used sometimes to have four typists working. You can't possibly get out all those details by yourself, Aaron."
"We shall have finished this lot, anyhow, in an hour."
"You must get permanent help," Maraton insisted. "Leave off now, both of you. I want to talk to your sister. Do you know," he went on, turning towards her, "that I have scarcely seen anything of you since Manchester?"
"My work keeps me rather a prisoner," she explained, "and after these hot days one hasn't much energy left."
"You are still working at the tailoring?"
She nodded.
"I like to be in the midst of it all, but this weather I am almost afraid I shan't be able to go on. The atmosphere is hateful. It seems to draw all the life out of one."
He glanced over her shoulder at the work she had been doing.
"Why not come to me?" he suggested suddenly. "Aaron needs help. He can't possibly do everything for himself. I have a thirst for information, you know. I want statistics on every possible subject. There are seven or eight big corporations now, whose wages bill I want to compare with the interest they pay on capital. Aaron doesn't have time even to answer the necessary letters. I am in disgrace all round. Do come."
She was sitting quite still, looking at him. It would have been impossible for any one to have guessed that his words were like music to her.