“Yes, I know. But I didn’t care to call there and interrupt your work. Billy showed me the little room where you used to work in the olden days. I thought it real nice of you to turn it into a study for him, and to take care of him as you are doing. He sent me a story of his. No; it wasn’t very good, poor fellow!” she added, seeing the question in his face. “Rather too full of passionate love-making.”
“Not published?”
“No—in manuscript. I returned it to him type-written. He was enraptured. He said it was like seeing himself in print.”
“Ah! we are not so used to the type-writer as you Americans.”
“It is coming in fast, though; even into your slow, old country, if you consider it yours,” she added, slyly. “I am delighted to see how many offices the new-fangled machine has crept into; in two years it will be in every business office.”
“Why delighted? Have you or Mrs. Verder shares in the patent?”
“No, no,” she said, gently. “Don’t you see it is a new occupation for women?”
He smiled.
“Ah, I remember. That’s your hobby.”
“Oh, not hobby, Mr. Strang, not hobby. It is my life-work. But I can’t expect you to sympathize with these sordid, practical things,” she said, smiling. “Your life is devoted to the gospel of the Beautiful.”