“Give me some dictation,” she dictated.
He nodded, pummeled his head for an idea while she took from her hand-bag, not a vanity-case, but a stenographer’s notebook and a sheaf of pencils.
He noted that she sat down stenographically––very concisely. She perched her notebook on the desk of one crossed knee and perked her eyes up as alertly as a sparrow.
All this professionalism sat so quaintly on the two Marie Louises he had known that he roared with laughter as at a child dressed up.
She smiled patiently at his uproar till it subsided. Then he sobered and began to dictate:
“Ready? ‘Miss Mamise’––cross that out––‘Miss Marie Louise Webling’––you know the address; I don’t. ‘Dear––My dear’––no, just ‘Dear Miss Webling. Reference is had to your order of recent date that this house engage you as amanuensis.’ Dictionary in the bookcase outside––comma––no, period. ‘In reply I would––I wish to––I beg to––we beg to say that we should––I should just as soon engage Mona Lisa for a stenographer as you.’ Period and paragraph.
“‘We have,’––comma,––‘however,’––comma,––‘another position to offer you,’––comma,––‘that is, as wife to the senior member of this firm.’ Period. ‘The best wages we can––we can offer you are––is the use of one large,’––comma,––‘slightly damaged heart and a million thanks a minute.’ Period. ‘Trusting that we may be favored with a prompt and favorable reply, we am––I are––am––yours very sincerely, 192 truly yours,’––no, just say ‘yours,’ and I’ll sign it. By the way, do you know what the answer will be?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mean it?”
“I mean that I know the answer.”