He flushed at that.
“Thanks,” he said. “I'd rather get in, wherever I go, by what I know, and not who I know.”
She felt considerably snubbed, but she knew his curious pride. After a time, while he threw a stick into the park lake and Jinx retrieved it, he said:
“What do you do with yourself these days, Lily?”
“Nothing. I've forgotten how to work, I'm afraid. And I'm not very happy, Willy. I ought to be, but I'm just—not.”
“You've learned what it is to be useful,” he observed gravely, “and now it hardly seems worth while just to live, and nothing else. Is that it?”
“I suppose.”
“Isn't there anything you can do?”
“They won't let me work, and I hate to study.”
There was a silence. Willy Cameron sat on the bench, bent and staring ahead. Jinx brought the stick, and, receiving no attention, insinuated a dripping body between his knees. He patted the dog's head absently.