Bowles who did their ingenuous best to present themselves to her as
energetic, if not successful, young business men, not wholly unworthy
of attention and always breathing daily increasing devotion.
Sometimes it was Tembarom, of whom her opinion had never been
expressed, but who seemed to have made friends with her. She liked to
hear about the newspaper office and Mr. Galton, and never was
uninterested in his hopes of "making good." She seemed to him the
wisest and most direct and composed person he had ever known. She
spoke with the broad, flat, friendly Manchester accent, and when she
let drop a suggestion, it carried a delightfully sober conviction
with it, because what she said was generally a revelation of logical
mental argument concerning details she had gathered through her
little way of listening and saying nothing whatever.

"If Mr. Biker drinks, he won't keep his place," she said to Tembarom
one night. "Perhaps you might get it yourself, if you persevere."

Tembarom reddened a little. He really reddened through joyous
excitement.

"Say, I didn't know you knew a thing about that," he answered.
"You're a regular wonder. You scarcely ever say anything, but the way
you get on to things gets me."

"Perhaps if I talked more I shouldn't notice as much," she said,
turning her bit of sewing round and examining it. "I never was much
of a talker. Father's a good talker, and Mother and me got into the
way of listening. You do if you live with a good talker."

Tembarom looked at the girl with a male gentleness, endeavoring to