The smile disappeared from his face, but swiftly returned. West rarely suffered more than a momentary eclipse. At this moment, however, his instinct warned him of danger. “I shall be only too glad,” he began, but Miss Wing cut him short.
“I want,” she said, waving one hand with the air of making a joke, “I want to place my services at your feet.”
West continued to smile. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I want you to give me something to do. I want you to give me a share in your enterprises. I know I can be useful to you.”
“But what about your own work—your newspaper work?”
Miss Wing snapped her gloved fingers. “What does that amount to? Why, it hardly pays for my frocks. And to tell the truth,” she went on, her manner growing more familiar, “I’m not at all clever at it. My editor has to rewrite nearly everything I send him. By nature I’m a business woman. Society reporting bores me. I like larger interests. That’s what I came to Washington for.”
West showed that he was growing interested by slightly closing his left eye. This gave him a curiously sinister expression, which Miss Wing observed. “You want to do some political work—is that the idea?” he asked.
Miss Wing sank back in her chair. “I want to get a little power if I can, and to use it for my own advantage. Now, there’s frankness for you. But I’m only a beginner. I’m just getting my start.”
West cleared his throat. “Since you’re so frank, Miss Wing,” he said, pleasantly, “perhaps you’ll tell me just what you have in mind.”
On being confronted with this question Miss Wing flushed. “I think you know perfectly well what I mean. I’ve told you that I want you to let me into your schemes.”