“I’ve had rather a rough time since I last saw you.”

“I can well believe it to look at you.  Why didn’t you write?”

“I didn’t like to.  It’s good of you to do what you’ve done.”

Mr Devitt appeared to think for a few moments before saying: 

“I’m sorry I can’t do more; but one isn’t always in a position to do exactly what one would like.”

“Quite so,” assented the girl.

More was said to the same effect, although Mavis could not rid herself of the impression that he was patronising her.  A further thing that prejudiced her against Devitt was his absence of self-possession.  While speaking, he gesticulated, moved his limbs, and seemed incapable of keeping still.

“I’ll pay you back the three pounds you so kindly sent me, gradually,” said Mavis presently.

“Wouldn’t hear of it; nothin’ to me; only too happy to oblige you,” declared Devitt, showing by his manner that he considered the interview at an end.

As she walked towards the door, he said: 

“By the way, where are you stayin’?”

“At Mrs Farthing’s; it’s quite near here.”

“Quite two miles from us,” remarked Devitt, as if more pleased than otherwise at the information.

“Quite,” answered Mavis.

“Well, good-bye!  Let me know if I can ever do any-thin’ for you,” he cried from the fireplace.

Mavis went back to her work.  She had an hour’s liberty at one, which she spent at Mrs Farthing’s, who provided an appetising meal of stewed steak and jam roly-poly pudding.

About three, Miss Toombs made tea on the office fire; she asked Mavis if she would like to join the tea club.

“What’s that?” asked Mavis.

“You pay fourpence a week for tea and biscuits.  We take it in turn to make the tea and wash up:  profits equally divided at Christmas.”

“I shall be delighted,” said Mavis, as she produced her purse.

“Not till tomorrow.  Today you’re a guest,” remarked Miss Toombs listlessly.

About four, there was so little to do that Miss Toombs produced a book, whilst Miss Hunter rather ostentatiously opened the Church Times.  Mavis scribbled on her blotting paper till Miss Toombs brought out a brown-paper-covered book from her desk, which she handed to Mavis.

“It’s ‘Richard Feverel’; if you haven’t read it, you can take it home.”

“Thanks.  I’ll take great care of it.  I haven’t read it.”

“Not read Richard Feverel?” asked Miss Toombs, as she raised her eyebrows, but did not look at Mavis.

“Is it always easy like this?” Mavis asked of Miss Hunter, as they were putting on their things at half-past four.

“You call it easy?”

“Very.  Is it always like this?”

“Always, except just before Christmas, when there’s a bit of a rush, worse luck,” replied Miss Hunter, to add after a moment:  “It interferes with one’s social engagements.”