That last little phrase sent a blush flying up her cheek. It recalled many things.
“Yes, I see. But couldn’t you put it in skilful hands?”
He laid down his cup and turned suddenly on her.
“Could you do it?”
“I? I wish I could, but I am doing work at present——”
“Literary?”
“Of a sort. Secretarial. I write from dictation.”
“May I ask what sort of things?”
With a curious reluctance she answered.
“Indian,” and said no more.