“She’s every bit as good as I am,” was her reply.
He shook his head.
“Oh, look here,” said Eileen, “you might let me come, or are you—are you afraid of—of what the women will say?” She was standing by one of the flour-encrusted mill windows and she began to scratch a clean place on it with her nail.
Thrale did not answer for a moment and then he came and stood near her. “What is it?” he asked. “Are you sick of your work here?”
“I shouldn’t mind a change,” she said, intent on enlarging her peep-hole.
“One forgets that you are women,” said Thrale. “I suppose women are never content with work for work’s sake.”
“If you like,” returned Eileen inconsequently. “I can see out now. Why don’t we have these windows cleaned sometimes?”
“You can have them done while I’m away,” he suggested.
“I’m coming with you,” said Eileen.
“Oh! you can come if you like,” he said. He thought he was perfectly safe, despite this unusual display of femininity.