families ... among children. It was at once subtle and extremely
primitive.

"My dear Mr. Flint, this isn't quite the same thing. I've work to do for
one thing and, and...."

"And ... and.... Why don't you say it? You're alone with me and all that
sort of rubbish! Want a chaperon, I suppose. Mrs. Condor, for
instance.... Good Lord!"

Claire dipped her spoon into the steaming bouillon-cup in front of her.
She was growing quite calm under the directness of Flint's attack.

"It isn't the same," she reiterated, stubbornly. "I've work to do, Mr.
Flint."

"I tell you that you haven't!" Flint brought his fist down upon the
table.

"Well, then, why did you send for me?"

"I had something to say to you.... Gad! one can't talk in that ramping
office of mine. We've never even settled the matter of an increase in
salary for you. By the way, how much money do you get?"

Claire had never seen any man look so crafty and disagreeable. He gave
her the impression of a petty tyrant about to bestow largess upon an
obsequious and fawning slave.

"Sixty-five dollars a month."