I did know that Kitty had perhaps a pound a week of her own money, from some tramways out Edgbaston way.
"And she types at home, too—authors' manuscript—when she can get it—and I save the ten shillings I had to pay somebody to look after the boy."
"And you yourself?" I ventured meaningly.
"Oh," she answered evasively, "we've not stuck fast yet."
"In spite of your chills," thought I; and then, as another burst of laughter broke from the girls down the room, I said aloud: "Tell me—I've never asked you—how did you drop into this kind of thing? You used to be at a business college."
Again she smiled. "Did I? Sometimes I can hardly believe that was I. It's precious little I learned there, anyway. And this other—I could explain to Billy—I'm not pretty, I know, not my face, but—well, it seemed a fairly obvious thing to do. There wasn't much else, anyhow, and remember I did fairly well out of it—better than most girls in offices."
She had grown faintly pink, and again the tourmalines had given, as it were, a half turn. I dropped my voice and looked earnestly at her.
"And these—chills—aren't they anything you could ever grow out of?"
The soft irradiation deepened as she looked as earnestly back at me.