The Major returned a moment after with a chair. He gave it to Agnes and resumed his place at the machine.
'I shan't be many minutes before I finish this lot,' he said; 'then we shall be able to talk. I promised to get them finished this evening.'
She had never seen a type-writing machine at work before, and admired the nimbleness with which his fingers struck the letters, and the dexterity with which he passed fresh sheets of paper under the roller. When he had finished and was gathering the sheets together, she said,—
'How clever you are.'
'I think I picked it up pretty quickly. I can do seventy words a minute. Some typists can do eighty, but my fingers are too old for that. Still, seventy is a good average, and I have hardly any corrections to make. They are very pleased with my work…. I'll teach you—you'd soon pick it up.'
'Will you, father? Then I should be able to assist you. We could sit together, you in that corner, I in this. I wonder if mother would buy me a machine. I could pay her back out of the money I earned, just like you.'
'Your mother would say you were wasting your time. You've come home, she'd say, to go into society, and not to learn type-writing.'
'I'm afraid she would. But father, there is no use my going into society. I shall never get on in society. Last night at Lord Chiselhurst's——'
'Yes; tell me about it. You must have enjoyed yourself there.'
Agnes did not answer for a long while, at last she said,—