Sit down." She signalled to him to take a chair and
went on typing.
For some minutes the silence was unbroken, save for the tapping of
fingers and the clicking of the machine. Then she looked up, and their
eyes met.
"It's not pleasant to be out of work," he said. "Have you ever
experienced it?"
"Once or twice," she said. "And I never wish to again. You don't look
as if you were much used to office work."
"No! I'm an artist; but times are hard with us. The present Government
has driven all the money out of the country and no one buys pictures
now; so I'm forced to turn my hand to something else."
"I love pictures. My father was an artist."
"Then we have something in common," the young man said. "Would you
like to see my work? I love showing it to people who understand
something about painting, and are not afraid to criticize."
"I should like to see it, immensely--though I won't presume to
criticize."
"May I inquire your name?" the young man asked eagerly. "Mine is Shiel
Davenport."
"And mine--Lilian Rosenberg," the girl said, with a smile.
"If I don't get the post, may I write to you sometimes, Miss
Rosenberg, and ask you to my studio. I call it a studio, though it's
really only an attic."
Lilian Rosenberg nodded. "I shall be delighted to come," she said. "I
am afraid I am very unconventional."
There was no time for further conversation, as Hamar entered the room
at that moment.
Pages:
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226