"Do you think I could operate a lathe, Clare?"
"You! Why, Mrs. Valentine, it's not work for a lady! Look at my
hands."
But Audrey made an impatient gesture.
"I don't care about my hands. The question is, could I do it? I
don't seem able to do anything else."
"Why, yes." Clare was reluctant. "I can, and you're a lot cleverer
than I am. But it's hard. It's rough, and some of the talk - oh,
I hope you don't mean it, Mrs. Valentine."
Audrey, however, was meaning it. It seemed to her, all at once,
the way out. Here was work, needed work. Work that she could do.
For the first time in months she blessed the golf and riding that
had kept her fit.
"Mr. Spencer is a friend of yours. He'll never let you do it."
"He is not to know, Clare," Audrey said briskly. "You are quite
right. He would probably be very - mannish about it. So we won't
tell him. And now, how shall I go about getting in? Will they
teach me, or shall I have to lust learn? And whatever shall I wear?"
Clare explained while, for she was determined not to lose a minute,
Audrey changed into her plainest clothes.
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