“That’s an excuse, I suppose. There are one or two possible ideas here. Leave the designs. I’ll consider them.”
She laid them down on her desk and looked at Eve in a way that told her that she was expected to go.
“I had better leave my address.”
“Isn’t it on the cards?”
“No!”
“Then write it.”
She pushed a pen and ink towards Eve, and turned to resume the work that had been interrupted.
When Eve had gone, the good lady picked up the designs, looked them carefully through, and then pushed the button of a bell in the wall behind her. A flurried young woman with a snub nose, and untidy yellow hair, came in.
“Here, Miss Rush, copy those two. Then pack them all up and send them back to the address written on that one. Say we’ve looked at them, and that none are suitable.”
The snub-nosed young woman understood, and two of Eve’s designs were appropriated, at a cost to Messrs. Smith of twopence for postage. That was good business. The whole batch was returned to Eve in the course of three days, with a laconic type-written statement that the designs had received careful consideration, but had been found to be unsuitable.