"It is handy," Miss Ethel agreed. "But we've nothing but an attic unlet. Are you in Art, miss?"
"No, Literature," Beth answered, with presence of mind.
"Lady's, I suppose?" Ethel Maud Mary observed, meaning lady's papers, and glancing at Beth's dress. "You've got to be smart for that, and it doesn't leave much for living. Come this way, miss, please. And thank you, Mr. Brock, for mentioning us."
She led the way upstairs, talking all the time with cheerful inconsequence. "He's a real gentleman is Mr. Brock, as doubtless you know, though an American, and dry, and you never know which is his fun; and in Art, which is not much to reckon on, and that's why I thought that you might be, though you do look more like Fashion. Art is apt to be towzled, but why, goodness knows. You're not used to the stairs, I see. I wish it wasn't such a height up."
"Oh, I don't mind the height, if the price is proportionately low," Beth said. "I must live within my means, and keep out of debt, you know."
"That's a rhyme—low and you know. Did you do it on purpose?" Ethel Maud Mary asked with interest.
"No," said Beth.
"Then that's for luck," said Ethel. "You'll keep out of debt all right. I see it in your face. And I know a face when I see it. They'll keep you on the Lady's for the sake of your appearance, even if you're not much use. You're elegant and speak nice, and that's what they want to go about for them, particularly if it's a man."
"If what is a man?" Beth asked.
"The editor, you know. We 'ad a young lady here who used to say she'd undertake to get an extra half-sovereign out of any editor in town; but editresses there was no managing. Which is yours?"