"Thank you."
There was a pause, while he watched her pulling down her long coat over her ankles.
"You see, I've come on business," she said presently, looking up straight into his face.
"Oh, indeed. I'm afraid," with a comical shake of his bristly head, "I'm not much good on business matters."
"It's not about money at all. I—" there was just a tiny pause—"I want to know if you—if you would engage me as an extra hand on next Wednesday."
"An—extra—hand?"
A little pink signal of distress lest he laugh at her flamed in her cheek.
"You see," the staid voice grew hurried, "I'm rather small for my age. I'm not really very young. I'm quite six and fourteen weeks, and I—I'm 'ceptionally strong. I could wash the plates and knives and forks, and—and run errings—and fill the water jugs. I'd do anythin', and I wouldn't want any wages. The only stippleation I'd make is that I might listen in a corner to Denis's speech."
"It's very kind of you," the dark eyes behind the glasses were twinkling a good deal, "but I really do not need an—er—extra hand."
There was a pause. Sheila Pat swallowed twice, quite loudly.