"That's a hundred and fifty dollars a month.

Well, Miss Brewster, there is nothing small about the _Ghost_.
Consider yourself on salary during the time you remain with us." She made no acknowledgment.

She was too unused as yet to the whims of the man to accept them with equanimity.
"I forgot to inquire," he went on suavely, "as to the nature of your occupation.

What commodities do you turn out?
What tools and materials do you require ?" "Paper and ink," she laughed.

"And, oh! also a typewriter." "You are Maud Brewster," I said slowly and with certainty, almost as though I were charging her with a crime.
Her eyes lifted curiously to mine.