“Not really? You are joking.”
“No, I'm not. You are responsible. Are you sorry?”
Her answer was a question.
“Are you?” she asked.
“No. At first it seemed ridiculous and strange, even to myself; but now I like the work. It is like old times.”
“Old times?”
I was forgetting myself again; talking too much was a dangerous train—for me. I laughed, with pretended carelessness.
“Why, yes; I was employed in a bank at one time. I think I told you that. Have you been motoring much of late, Miss Colton?”
“Yes. Tell me, please: You really like your work?”
“Yes, I do.”