"Thank you," said Philip humbly. "Please correct it." Miss Jennings did so. Philip, regarding the curving neck and prettily coiled hair close beside him, found himself wondering why such a beautiful thing as a young girl should be compelled to work for a living. Miss Jennings looked up, and caught his eye. "Well?" she enquired shortly. Philip coloured guiltily, and continued:-- _The cylinders you mention are cast in pairs, and their internal diameter is one hundred millimetres, or_-- He paused again. It seemed to him monstrous that a woman should be compelled to waste her youth taking down dry technical stuff like this, when she ought to be outside in the sunshine. If a woman must earn her bread, at least let her do work that was woman's work and not man's leavings. Her real mission, of course, should be to stand apart from the struggle for existence, rendering first aid to her man when he was stricken and companionship when he was weary. But to sit-- Miss Jennings looked up again. "We can go faster than this," she observed severely. "I'm a trained stenographer." Philip, collecting himself, dictated an elaborate formula for ascertaining the indicated horse-power of the engine under discussion, at a pace which caused the trained stenographer to pant for breath. When he had finished, he said:-- "There are two more letters to do, Miss Jennings, but perhaps you would like to rest for a moment." "No, thank you," said Miss Jennings. "I'm not made of sugar." Possibly this statement was made--as many feminine statements of the kind are made--in order to be contradicted. More probably it was intended as a test of character. Whatever it was, it failed to intrigue Philip. "Very well, then," he said, and proceeded to dictate another letter. "Of course I see how it is, Mr. Meldrum," said Miss Jennings, unbending a little as their joint task came to an end. "You have not been accustomed to working with a woman, and you think she can't work the same as a man. You'll soon find out your mistake. She works twice as hard, and makes less fuss about it." "I am sure she does," said Philip meekly. "It's kind of you," proceeded Miss Jennings maternally, "to consider my feelings; but we shall get through a great deal more work if you look on me simply as a machine." "I do not think that would be possible," said Philip. "I could not do my own work properly if I thought you were not comfortable." For a moment Miss Jennings eyed her employer keenly. "Well, try, anyway," she urged. Experience had taught her to beware of gentlemen who were too solicitous about her comfort, and she had not yet taken Philip's complete measure. "I've been earning my living for five years now--ever since I was sixteen," she added carelessly--"and I have found that we do our work better and are much more friendly and comfortable when the gentleman I am working for doesn't worry too much about whether I want a cushion for my back, and that sort of thing."