They belonged to him now!
In half an hour more Roberta's machine stopped clicking. Swiftly she
covered it, set it away in the book-cupboard, and put her table in
order. She laid the typewritten sheets together upon Judge Gray's desk
in a straight-edged pile, a paperweight on top. In her simple dress of
dark blue, trim as any office woman's attire, she might have been a
hired stenographer--of a very high class--putting her affairs in order
for the day.
Richard waited till she approached his desk, which she had to pass on
her way out. Then he rose to his feet.
"Allow me to congratulate you," said he, "on having accomplished a long
task in the minimum length of time possible. I am lost in wonder that a
hand which can play the 'cello with such art can play the typewriter
with such skill."
"Thank you." There was a flash of mirth in her eyes. "There's music in
both if you have ears to hear."
"I have recognized that to-day."
"You never heard it before? Music in the hammer on the anvil, in the
throb of the engine, in the hum of the dynamo."
"And in the scratch of the pen, the pounding of the boiler shop, and
the--the--slide and grind of the trolley-car, I suppose?"
"Indeed, yes--even in those.
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