"Yes," she said, "do let's try it." "Good! Now let me warn you first off, that I may be diverting at times, but I'm no good. To-morrow I'll pretend to be a misused and unfortunate victim, but your young and almost trusting eyes make me feel candid for about fifteen minutes. I certainly got a raw deal from my beloved husband--that's all you'll hear from me about him. By the way, I'm typical of about ten thousand married women in business about whose noble spouses nothing is ever said. But I suppose I ought to have bucked up and made good in business (I'm a bum stenog. for Pitcairn, McClure & Stockley, the bond house). But I can't. I'm too lazy, and it doesn't seem worth while.... And, oh, we are exploited, women who are on jobs. The bosses give us a lot of taffy and raise their hats--but they don't raise our wages, and they think that if they keep us till two G.M. taking dictation they make it all right by apologizing. Women are a lot more conscientious on jobs than men are--but that's because we're fools; you don't catch the men staying till six-thirty because the boss has shystered all afternoon and wants to catch up on his correspondence. But we--of course we don't dare to make dates for dinner, lest we have to stay late. We don't _dare_!" "I bet _you_ do!" "Yes--well, I'm not so much of a fool as some of the rest--or else more of a one. There's Mamie Magen--she's living here; she's with Pitcairn, too. You'll meet her and be crazy about her. She's a lame Jewess, and awfully plain, except she's got lovely eyes, but she's got a mind like a tack. Well, she's the little angel-pie about staying late, and some day she'll probably make four thousand bucks a year. She'll be mayor of New York, or executive secretary of the Young Women's Atheist Association or something. But still, she doesn't stay late and plug hard because she's scared, but because she's got ambition. But most of the women--Lord! they're just cowed sheep." "Yes," said Una. A million discussions of Women in Business going on--a thousand of them at just that moment, perhaps--men employers declaring that they couldn't depend on women in their offices, women asserting that women were the more conscientious. Una listened and was content; she had found some one with whom to play, with whom to talk and hate the powers.... She felt an impulse to tell Mrs. Lawrence all about Troy Wilkins and her mother and--and perhaps even about Walter Babson. But she merely treasured up the thought that she could do that some day, and politely asked: "What about Mrs. Fike? Is she as bad as she seems?"