“Wait a minute. You don’t know; you can’t tell now how you might feel one of these days. It’s dangerous, this stuff. You may not know it, but we’re a pretty rotten lot. Most men are out for what they can get.”
“I think that’s horrid; to be worrying like that all the time. I don’t want to have to be on my guard all the time.”
“Of course you don’t. Of course you don’t.”
“And as for my being silly, I think you ought to realize that I have a little common sense. Or even if you don’t think so, don’t you think that I have some ideals?”
“That’s the way I like to hear you talk. Maybe you think I’m being sort of nosey, but I can’t help worrying about you. You’re awfully sweet.”
She has a fleeting moment of misgiving. This isn’t the way a boss ought to be talking. But you are very kind to be so worried.... “Yes,” she says, flippantly, “If I were Miss Moser you wouldn’t take so much trouble, I guess.”
“Well, nobody’s likely to bother her, at her age. I do want to keep an eye on you. You don’t look so efficient as you are; a man’s likely to forget what a swell little secretary you are when he looks at you. Here, isn’t this more comfortable?” Put your arm under her head. The room is very still and cozy. “Listen.”
“What?” she says, comfortably.
“I want to ask you something.”
“What?”