“I'm afraid you'll think me very outspoken—but that's me all over. All my friends say, 'Billy Verepoint's a funny girl: if she likes any one she just tells them so straight out; and if she doesn't like any one she tells them straight out, too.'”
“And a very admirable trait,” said Roland, enthusiastically.
Miss Verepoint sighed. “P'raps it is,” she said pensively, “but I'm afraid it's what has kept me back in my profession. Managers don't like it: they think girls should be seen and not heard.”
Roland's blood boiled. Managers were plainly a dastardly crew.
“But what's the good of worrying,” went on Miss Verepoint, with a brave but hollow laugh. “Of course, it's wearing, having to wait when one has got as much ambition as I have; but they all tell me that my chance is bound to come some day.”
The intense mournfulness of Miss Verepoint's expression seemed to indicate that she anticipated the arrival of the desired day not less than sixty years hence. Roland was profoundly moved. His chivalrous nature was up in arms. He fell to wondering if he could do anything to help this victim of managerial unfairness. “You don't mind my going on about my troubles, do you?” asked Miss Verepoint, solicitously. “One so seldom meets anybody really sympathetic.”
Roland babbled fervent assurances, and she pressed his hand gratefully.
“I wonder if you would care to come to tea one afternoon,” she said.
“Oh, rather!” said Roland. He would have liked to put it in a more polished way but he was almost beyond speech.
“Of course, I know what a busy man you are——”