"Oh no. Just the office work. They worked me quite hard and paid me very little, and, when I murmured, they hinted that if I was only loyal to my sex I'd do the whole show for nothing. Never work for lovers of humanity: their love has a background of dividends and West End drawing-rooms. It's none the worse for that, but they expect your love to take the form of more work for less pay. It's not good enough. I'd rather be a genuine wage-slave, thanks very much."
"City office, regular hours, and no nonsense?"
"That's it."
"Have you been ill this winter?"
"Yes. I was rotten for a bit; Margaret has been awfully good to me. When she heard of it she fished me out of my lodgings and made me come here. I was in bed a fortnight and must have been a beastly nuisance. They are splendid, all of them."
Martin agreed.
"And what about you?" she asked.
He explained his hopes and fears.
"You've no business to mope," she told him. "Don't you understand that you're an extremely lucky person? I wish I had your chances."
"I suppose I'm lucky," he said without conviction, trying to feel ashamed of his despair.