It was so pleasant to be free from controversial conversation, or from conversation which glossed over controversy that Gage found himself feeling much warmer and more cheerful than he had for days. Together they walked over to the office of the man who had the district chairmanship. Mr. Drummond was embarrassed. Clearly he was embarrassed by the necessity of refusing a favor Flandon asked. But he was put to it.
They left the office and at the street corner Freda stopped and held out her hand.
“Pretty lucky for them that young Whitelaw got there first, I fancy.”
“Have you something else in mind?”
“I’ll try to find something. Maybe I can get a place as somebody’s companion. Or maybe Miss Duffield will know—”
A tight little line came around Gage’s mouth. He didn’t want Margaret Duffield running this girl. His dislike was becoming an obsession.
“I wonder,” he said slowly, “if you’d like to come into my office. I could use another clerk, as a matter of fact. I’m away a great deal and I find that since my assistant has been handling more law work he is too busy to do things around the office—handling clients, sorting correspondence and such things. The ordinary stenographer just messes up everything except a sheet of carbon paper, and the last good one I had got married, of course. There wouldn’t be much in it—maybe sixty a month, say—but if you’d like to try—”
Freda looked at him straightly.
“If you’re just trying to find a job for me, I’d rather not, Mr. Flandon.”
He liked that, and gave her back honesty.