THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
—a child's interest. He did not notice the strange silences that often fell upon her. There were a certain restraint and demureness in these spells that would have interested Betty Burlingham.
One Saturday, as he rocked in his creaky swivel chair, smoking his strong pipe and dreaming pleasantly, the door swung open and Betty and Doris swept in, bright of eye and rich in color, for a cold northeaster was blowing. He was on his feet instantly.
"Well, this is a pleasure!"
"Don't be too sure of that," replied Betty. "We came at this hour because we thought you might ask us out to lunch."
"I thought perhaps you might be looking for an office. There's one to rent."
Betty perched herself upon a corner of the desk, while Doris strolled about. She paused at the globe, and with the tip of her finger sent it spinning upon its axis.
"How do you like work?" asked Betty, pushing the still smoking pipe to the farthest end of the desk. "I don't see why we women marry you men, you have such horrid habits. But never mind. How are you making out?"
76
