“All summer and more. How long are you?”
“Till released.”
“You have made a promise. I'll enter it in my ledger.” Which she did, writing it down in her absurd little booklet with a delicious solemnity of importance.
“But can't I come and sit for you afternoons?” he pleaded.
“How many wages do you want to earn? No; not at present. But Miss Fluff and I are at home to honest working friends on Friday evenings. Come here, Miss Fluff, and tell the new engineer that we'll be glad to have him come and tell us about the job when he's learned it.” But the kitten paid no heed, being at that moment engaged in treacherously and scientifically stalking an imaginary butterfly along the window-sill.
“Before I'm banished,” said Cyrus, “may I ask a question?”
“You might try it.”
“Do you mind telling me your given name? Not for use,” he added, as she looked up at him with her grave, speculative gaze, “but just as a guaranty of good faith. I set great store by other people's names, having been cursed since birth with my own Persian abomination.”
“I don't think Cyrus is bad at all,” she said. “Mine is Carol.”
“Oh,” said he blankly.