She was flushed and pretty—very pretty. He vaguely thought she was dressed up more than usual.
“I’m tired out!” she exclaimed. “Those intelligence offices are enough to wear you to death. I got two because—the work here is too much for any one girl.”
George looked around the microscopic room, and mentally saw, as well, the microscopic second floor.
“Eliza got through all right.”
Mrs. Warrener exclaimed: “Don’t talk to me of Eliza. She wasn’t fit to be seen.”
With the hope that the two servants together might not cost as much as one, he asked:
“What’s their wages?”
She hesitated.
“Why, I’d rather make it up some way—on a dress or a hat. They’re high. One twenty and the other twenty-five a month.”
“Gee whizz!” Warrener staggered back. “Why,” he gasped, “you’re crazy, Gert!”