“I hate it!” she said.
“Rather! But why do you do it?”
“I want to get on—get a better job.”
“What are you doing now?”
He was, she thought, very personal, but he didn’t seem aware of it.
“I’m a secretary, for an authoress.”
That seemed to interest him.
“I’d thought of something of that sort for myself,” he said. “What do they expect of a secretary over here?”
“My position’s rather peculiar,” Frances told him. “I do all sorts of things that aren’t really part of my duties.”
“What, for instance? Can’t you give me some sort of idea?” he persisted, and, half-laughing, she tried to tell him.