As soon as Amelia entered Catherine’s room she started upon a recital of her various woes, chief of which appeared to be the possession of an unfeeling and narrow-minded parent. Catherine listened apathetically, and all the time with conscious superiority she was thinking: This is youth. I was like this when I was her age. Funny how we grow out of our grievances....
... “It’s too bad,” Amelia was saying. “Only last week Mr. Hobbs asked me to go out to the pictures, and I had to refuse because it wasn’t a Saturday.”
“Who is Mr. Hobbs?”
“The salesman in our department ... and he don’t offer to spend his money on anybody too often, either.”
“Careful with his money, eh?”
“Careful?—stingy, I should call it.... Takes you in the sixpenny parts at the pictures and if you wants any chocolates he goes up to the girl at the counter and says: ‘I’ll have a quarter of mixed——’”
Amelia laughed scornfully. “Only it’s too bad,” she went on, resuming her original theme, “to be compelled to say no when he does ask you out with him!”
Catherine smiled. She was not of this world. She did not go out to “pictures” with salesmen from West-end departmental stores.... Yet with a sudden impulse she said:
“You know, I shall have to be looking about for a job very soon. My arm, you see: I’m doubtful of it being really well for quite a long time. And, of course, I can’t afford to—to go on like this.... Any jobs going at your place?”
Amelia pondered.