“Brutes!” Jacob exclaimed fiercely.
“Oh, no, they were quite nice about it,” she declared. “It isn’t that I mind being kissed particularly, but I hate it to come into the two pounds a week arrangement. Besides, there is another fatal objection to my being able to keep any post as a typist.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“I simply cannot wear the clothes,” she confessed.
He looked puzzled.
“I don’t quite understand. You don’t have to wear a uniform or anything.”
She looked at him pityingly.
“Look at me,” she directed. “Now what would you say if I walked into your office and asked for a post as typist at two or three pounds a week?”
“Take you on like a shot,” he assured her enthusiastically.