"Well?" she enquired shortly.
Philip coloured guiltily, and continued:—
The cylinders you mention are cast in pairs, and their internal diameter is one hundred millimetres, or—
He paused again. It seemed to him monstrous that a woman should be compelled to waste her youth taking down dry technical stuff like this, when she ought to be outside in the sunshine. If a woman must earn her bread, at least let her do work that was woman's work and not man's leavings. Her real mission, of course, should be to stand apart from the struggle for existence, rendering first aid to her man when he was stricken and companionship when he was weary. But to sit—
Miss Jennings looked up again.
"We can go faster than this," she observed severely. "I'm a trained stenographer."
Philip, collecting himself, dictated an elaborate formula for ascertaining the indicated horse-power of the engine under discussion, at a pace which caused the trained stenographer to pant for breath.
When he had finished, he said:—
"There are two more letters to do, Miss Jennings, but perhaps you would like to rest for a moment."
"No, thank you," said Miss Jennings. "I'm not made of sugar."