"Of course we want to find out."

"I don't see the difference."

There was an interval of silence. "Mary Anne," the older woman said finally, "both Tom and I think the world of you. Your work is excellent-you're bright and you're quick to learn. But you must face reality."

"What reality is that?"

"Your job!"

Mary Anne smiled, a slow, meditative glimmer. She felt light-headed, filled with a buzzing sound. "That reminds me."

"Reminds you of what?"

"I think I'll pick up my brown gabardine coat from the cleaner." With deliberation, she examined her wristwatch; she was conscious of Edna Bolden's outrage, but the old woman was wasting her time. "Can I leave early this afternoon? The cleaner closes at five."

"I wish I could reach you," Mrs. Bolden said. She was troubled by the girl, and her distress showed. Mary Anne could not be appealed to; the usual promises and threats meant nothing. They fell on closed ears.

"I'm sorry," Mary Anne said. "But it's so stupid and mixed up. There's Jake out there hating his job-if he doesn't like his job he should quit. And your husband wants to fire him because his work is sloppy." She gazed up intently at Mrs. Bolden, distressing her even more. "Why doesn't somebody do something? It was like this a year and a half ago. What's the matter with everybody?"

"Just do your work," Mrs. Bolden said. "Would you do that? Would you turn around and finish your letters?"

"You didn't answer me." Mary Anne continued to scrutinize her, without compassion. "I asked if I could leave early."

"Finish your work and then we'll discuss it."

Mary Anne considered a moment and then turned back to her desk. It would take fifteen minutes to get to the cleaners, if she walked from the factory directly into town. She would have to leave at four-thirty to be sure of arriving in time.

As far as she was concerned the matter was settled. She had settled it herself.