“You must get permanent help,” Maraton insisted.  “Leave off now, both of you.  I want to talk to your sister.  Do you know,” he went on, turning towards her, “that I have scarcely seen anything of you since Manchester?”

“My work keeps me rather a prisoner,” she explained, “and after these hot days one hasn’t much energy left.”

“You are still working at the tailoring?”

She nodded.

“I like to be in the midst of it all, but this weather I am almost afraid I shan’t be able to go on.  The atmosphere is hateful.  It seems to draw all the life out of one.”

He glanced over her shoulder at the work she had been doing.

“Why not come to me?” he suggested suddenly.  “Aaron needs help.  He can’t possibly do everything for himself.  I have a thirst for information, you know.  I want statistics on every possible subject.  There are seven or eight big corporations now, whose wages bill I want to compare with the interest they pay on capital.  Aaron doesn’t have time even to answer the necessary letters.  I am in disgrace all round.  Do come.”

She was sitting quite still, looking at him.  It would have been impossible for any one to have guessed that his words were like music to her.

“But there is my trade,” she objected.  “After all, I am useful there.  I keep in touch with the girls.”

“You have finished with that,” he argued.  “You have done your work there.  They all know who you are and what you are.  You have lots of information which would be useful to me.  Aaron must have some one to help him.  Why not you?  As for the rest, I can afford to pay two secretaries—­you needn’t be afraid of that.”

“I never thought of it,” she assured him.  “I shouldn’t want very much money.”

“Leave that to me,” he begged, “only accept.  Is it a promise?  Come, make it a promise and we will have an evening off.  All day long I seem to have been moving in a strained atmosphere, talking to men who are only half in sympathy with me, talking to men who are civil because they have brains enough to see the truth.  I want an hour or two of rest.  Aaron shall telephone to Gardner.  I was to have dined with him at his club, but it is of no importance.  He was dining there, anyhow, and the other places I was going to this evening don’t count.  Telephone 1718 Westminster, Aaron, and say that Mr. Maraton is unable to keep his dinner engagement with Mr. Gardner and begs to be excused.  Then we’ll all go out together.  What do you say?  I have found something almost like a roof garden.  I’ll tell you all about New York.”

Her face for a moment shone.  Then she looked down at her gown.  He laughed.

“You have done your day’s work and I’ve done mine,” he remarked.  “I dare say of the two, yours is the more worthy.  We’ll go just as we are.  Get rid of those people who are waiting, Aaron.  I had a look at them.  They are all the usual class—­cadgers.”