A feeling of perfect security came over her. She thanked Heaven that she had not made a ridiculous scene. The chimes of a tall clock broke the silence with music.
He offered her his arm, and she laid her fingers on it.
"I think we are served," he said, and led her to the terrace. He was solicitous about placing cushions to the best advantage for her. He took one from his own chair, and, on one knee, put it under her feet. He smiled at her across the bowl of roses.
"How old are you?" he said. "You look like a man's kid sister."
She told him that she was seventeen and that she had worked for two years in a department store.
"My father was a farmer," she said, "but he lost one arm, and couldn't make it pay. So we had to come to the city."
"Is your father living?"
"Yes. But he says he is dead. He can't find any work to do. Mother works like a horse, though, and so does Bert, and so do I. The others are at school."
"Do you like your work?"