"
Sally looked at her thoughtfully. "I don't believe you've got a heart,
Janet," she said.
"Don't you?"
"Well, have you?"
"It's not a weakness I care to confess to."
"That's as good as admitting it."
Janet was slowly driving to the point. In another moment, she knew
that she would have the truth.
"If having a heart means wasting one's sorrows on men like Mr. Arthur,
I'm glad I haven't." Janet threw her work over the end of her bed,
and looked up at Sally.
"Who is he, Sally?" she asked abruptly. "What's his name? Where does
he live?"
"Who?" She tried to lift her eyebrows in surprise, but the blood
rushed to her cheeks and burnt them red. "Who?" she repeated.
"The man you're in love with. I asked you before if there was some
one in the office; it's silly going on denying it. You'd never have
told Mr. Arthur so soon. You'd have hung it on and hung it on for
heaven knows how long. No, something's happened, happened to-day.
Do you think I can't see? You're bubbling over with it, longing to
tell me, and afraid I'll laugh at you." She rose to her feet and stuck
her needle into the pincushion, then she put her arm round Sally's
waist, and hugged her gently.
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