“Of course not,” said Montague. “But wouldn’t he tide you over this crisis?”
“While I learn to milk cows you mean?” The laughter in her voice sounded less precarious now. “I couldn’t possibly ask him. He has sons to educate, and a wife whom I can’t abide. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“But must you milk cows?” he questioned. “Is there nothing you can do to fill in time—till you get another secretary’s job?”
“Ah! And when will that be? Secretary’s jobs are not easily come by. I have only had one other, and then my employer died and I was out of work for months. That is why I can’t afford to be out of work now. I’ve had no time to save.”
She spoke without pathos, a mere statement of fact. He liked her for it. Her simple courage combined with her businesslike expression thereof attracted him more and more. Whatever hard blows Fate might have in store for her, he was convinced that she would endure them unflinching, would stand on her feet to the very end. It was refreshing to meet this sort of woman. With all the present-day talk of woman’s independence he had seldom found her independent when hurt. He was beginning to realize wherein this woman’s fascination lay. It was in the fact that whatever happened to herself she would accept responsibility. Whatever her losses might be, she would borrow no man’s counters. She was answerable to none, and she held herself strong enough to hold her own.
That impression came upon him very forcibly as he talked with her, and it was to remain with him for all time. Here was a woman who made no claim of equality or independence, but—she stood alone.
“You are marvellously brave,” he said, and he uttered the words almost involuntarily. “It makes me all the keener to be of use.” He paused. “You know, I could be of use if you would allow me.”
“In what way?” she said.
He hesitated. “You won’t be angry—turn me down unheard?”
“You don’t realize that I have great reason to be grateful to you,” she said.