"
"Rather a pigsty, isn't it?" he remarked, sweeping a heap of books from
a chair. "I am without a secretary just now--in fact," he went on, with
a little burst of confidence engendered by her friendly attitude, "we
are in a mess altogether."
She laughed softly, leaning back amongst the cushions of the chair and
looking around the room, her kindly eyes filled with interest.
"It is a most characteristic mess," she declared. "I am sure an
interviewer would give anything for this glimpse into your tastes and
habits. Golf clubs, all cleaned up and ready for action; trout rod,
newly-waxed at the joints--you must try my stream, there is no water in
yours; tennis racquets in a very excellent press--I wonder whether
you're too good for a single with me some day? Typewriter--rather
dusty. I don't believe that you can use it."
"I can't," he admitted. "I have been writing my letters by hand for the
last two days."
She sighed.
"Men are helpless creatures! Fancy a great politician unable to write
his own letters! What has become of your secretary?"
Tallente threw some books to the floor and seated himself in the vacant
easy-chair.
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