"Oh, that's all right," he interrupted insincerely.
"And you have been awful' good to me."
"Please don't think of it that way."
He was holding the door for her, but on the threshold she hesitated.
"Unless," she ventured half-heartedly—"unless I could help you some way with your work."
"Help me?" he exclaimed, at once amazed and amused.
"I mean, copying—if you ever have any."
"Type-writing?"
She nodded, with a flush of hope. "When I was a kid—I mean, before I left school—I studied a while at a business college—nights, you know. They taught me type-writing by the touch system, but I couldn't seem to get the hang of shorthand, and so had to give it up and go to work in a store."
"Now that is a helpful thought!" he cried, turning back into the room. "Wait a minute. There may be something in this. Let me think."