“You haven’t,” he returned quickly. “I am not much of a philanthropist. I don’t pretend to take an interest in people who fail to interest me. I am no better than the majority, Miss Thorold, worse than a good many.”
He saw her faint smile. “But better than some,” she suggested.
He smiled in answer. “Well, perhaps,—better than some. Is there really nothing you can do to fill in time for the present? Because—I can find you another secretary’s job later on, if that is what you really want.”
“Can you?” she said. “But how?”
He was aware of a momentary embarrassment, and showed it. “It’s entirely a business proposition. I am just home from Africa. I am going to write a book on travel and sport. I’ve got my notes, heaps of ’em. It’s just a matter of sorting and arranging in a fairly digestible form. I shall want a secretary, and I have an idea we would arrive at an arrangement not injurious to either of us. You can help me if you will—if you care to—and I should think myself lucky to get anyone so efficient.”
“How do you know I am efficient?” she asked in her straight, direct way.
He laughed a little. “Oh, that! Well, mainly by the way you headed me off this morning when I showed a disposition to interrupt the progress of your work.”
“I see.” She spoke quietly, without elation. His suggestion seemed to excite no surprise in her, and he wondered a little while he waited for more. “Do you want me to decide at once?” she asked.
“Don’t you want to?” he continued. “You have no one—apparently—to consult but yourself.”
“That is true. But—” she spoke gravely—“it takes a little while to consult even oneself sometimes. What if I took up work with you and found I did not like it?”