She shook her head.
“On the contrary, it gives me the most extraordinary sense of pleasure that you want me . . . that you think I can be of some real service to you.”
“Well?”
“Well . . . that’s all! It’s simply out of the question! I know my father will never hear of such a thing.”
“He must! I’ll see him to-morrow. I’ll show him that he’s wrong. I’ll say . . .”
“You’ll say,” interrupted Azalea, forcing a laugh, “ ‘Sir, I have come to make a formal request for your daughter’s . . . shorthand!’ And then, “I’m glad, for your sake, Mr. Dilling, we don’t own a dog!”
“You can’t discourage me,” cried Dilling. “I’ve made up my mind that we will work together, and if you consent I feel that the thing is as good as settled.”
It was. The following morning, when Azalea carried in her father’s breakfast tray, she found that he had passed out of life as he had passed through it, easily, and without toil or struggle.
CHAPTER 14.
Two months had passed since Azalea had undertaken her secretarial duties. She felt that she had entered into a new life, that a wonderful renascence was hers. Never in all her imaginings, had she dreamed of days so replete with happiness.