She looked up at him shyly, bewitchingly. When she looked up at him that way he never failed to lose himself completely.
“Oh, that’s all right,” he assured her. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. I—I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”
“No,” she said, “I know you wouldn’t. I’ve always felt that you were perfectly”—she was going to say harmless; but she didn’t; she said—“unselfish. And so I thought you would let me talk to you about the men.”
“You can talk to me about anything, Mrs. Bradley—anything.”
“Thank you! Now, may I ask you what wages the men are getting?”
“Certainly! All the way from a dollar sixty for the common laborer up to four dollars a day for the skilled workman.”
“Do you call that enough?”
“Why, I hadn’t thought about it. But I’m sure no better wages are paid anywhere.”
“Perhaps not. But is it enough? Could you, for instance, live on a dollar sixty a day?”
“But I’m not a common laborer.”