"It's very nice of you," said Nancy. "The only question is that I should probably be quite unqualified for it."
"On the contrary," retorted Colin, "you're the exact person that I've been commissioned to find."
"It must be a queer sort of job then," remarked Nancy, still smiling. "All you know about me at present is that I can type, make tea, and blow a police whistle."
"Well, there you are," observed her guest. "It's just that all-round sort of ability that Mark wants."
He sat back against the wall, and, without any further delay, proceeded to enter into a full description of the distressing problem which overhung the Shadwell ménage.
"If you'll chip in and fill the gap," he continued, "you'll be doing a real Christian act. Mark jeers at his own work, but, as a matter of cold fact, he and Mary have buried themselves down in that beastly slum out of sheer good nature. They're the sort of people you don't meet twice in a lifetime. Mark's a brick, and Mary's just the sweetest and most unselfish woman that ever trod this earth."
"They sound perfect dears," said Nancy. "I should love to know them whether I get the job or not."
"Get the job!" repeated Colin. "Why, good Lord, they'll simply be all over you as soon as you show yourself."
Nancy's blue eyes gleamed merrily. "You seem to forget, Doctor Gray," she said, "everybody isn't quite so rapid and trustful as you are. They might, for instance, like to know something about me first."
"Well, you can tell 'em," replied Colin. "You haven't been in prison, have you, or anything of that sort? Not that Mark would mind a bit if you had."