She gained courage.
“You haven’t a duster, have you?”
He discovered a duster in the table drawer and gave it to her; like all good workmen, she was heartened by the touch of an instrument, however humble, of her natural work. She picked things up and set them down more briskly, saying meanwhile, half in excuse for her briskness,—
“I must hurry, or they’ll be missing me downstairs.”
“You can say I kept you. I’ll find something for you to take to the forewoman; that’ll be an excuse.”
“An excuse—is that right, do you think? But your room is in a mess, isn’t it? It can’t have been touched for months. Does no one clean up?”
“No, I won’t let them.”
“You ought to have told me,” she said, greatly distressed. “I am so sorry ... I didn’t think. Some men are like that, I know. They think they can find things better. But I haven’t tidied; look, nothing has been moved.”
“I told you I liked to see you doing it.”
“You were civil,” she said, not comforted.