She looked at me with a certain wistful thoughtfulness.
“Independent? Yes, you look like that,” she said, softly.
“In any case I have no taste for a home life,” I continued. “After what has passed I should find it unbearable. I want active work, and plenty of it.”
“That,” she said, with a sigh, “I can well understand. Yes, I know what you feel.”
Not altogether, I thought to myself, with a little wan smile. She did not know everything.
“I should like to get right away from here,” I continued. “I should like to go to London. I don’t know exactly what work I am fitted for; I should find that out in time. I took a good degree at Heidelberg, but I should hate to be a governess. I thought perhaps you might be able to suggest something.”
A sudden light had flashed into her face in the middle of my little speech. Evidently some thought had occurred to her which she hesitated to confide to me. When I had finished she looked at me half nervously, half doubtfully. She seemed to be on the point of suggesting something, yet she hesitated.
“If there is anything which has occurred to you,” I begged her, “do not mind letting me hear it, at any rate. I am not afraid to work, and I shall not be very particular as to its exact nature so long as it does not altogether deprive me of my liberty.”
“I was wondering,” she said, looking at me keenly, and with a faint color in her cheeks—“I was wondering whether you would care to accept a post as my secretary. I am really in urgent want of one,” she added, quickly; “I wrote out an advertisement to send to the Guardian last week.”
“Your secretary?” I repeated, slowly.