“Yes, Graham.”
“He'll—there ought to be some one here who knows the ropes.”
“Do you mean me?”
“Well, you know them, don't you?” He had tried to smile at her.
“Do you mean that you are going to have another secretary at the plant?”
“Look here, Anna,” he said impulsively. “You know things can't go on indefinitely, the way we are now. You know it, don't you.”
She looked down and nodded.
“Well, don't you think I'd better leave you here?”
She fumbled nervously with her wrist-watch.
“I won't stay here if you go,” she said finally. “I hate Mr. Weaver. I'm afraid of him. I—oh, don't leave me, Graham. Don't. I haven't anybody but you. I haven't any home—not a real home. You ought to see him these days.” She always referred to her father as “him.” “He's dreadful. I'm only happy when I'm here with you.”