Joyce’s colour rose slightly, as a hint that she was “vexed.”
“He’s one of the best. If you weren’t so unreasonably jealous, I’d ask you to make a friend of him.”
“Why?”
All Bertram’s nerves jangled at this suggestion of friendship with a man he detested as one of the professional warriors of Whitehall, with Prussian instincts and supercilious manners.
“Because he can put you in the way of a job. In fact, I think he’s going to offer you one.”
“Did you ask him?”
“More or less. Don’t you want a job? It’s time you began to keep your end up.”
Bertram rose from his chair, walked to the window, and tossed a blind tassel to and fro.
Presently he spoke, in a low, emotional voice.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that! I’ll pay you back for board and lodging when my book’s published.”