The Anonymous Amanuensis

“Eve, I will not lose you because my silly chit of a sister fancies herself in love with you. I could never find another secretary who...plea...who suited me as you do.” He gave her a small shake and then released her. “No. You will stay and I will speak to Penny.”
Eve was mute, so great her relief at his words. The tears she had held back thus far now coursed down her cheeks, unstoppable. She blinked rapidly, ashamed.
“Here, you young idiot.” Quinton handed her his handkerchief. “Do you then like your position so much that it brings tears to your eyes?” He patted her back. “Ah, Eve, you are still such a lad. I am constantly amazed that one so young as you could be so competent.”
“I am sorry, sir.” Eve dried her tears and blew her nose. “You must think me a witless ninny to give in to tears. They are so unmanly.”
She raised her chin and straightened her shoulders. Looking him firmly in the eye, she said, “I assure you, Mr. Quinton, that I am not in the habit of weeping like a child. It will not happen again, sir.”
Quinton’s mouth twitched, then he broke into the first full voice laugh that Eve had ever heard from him.
She stared at him, astonished.
“Witless ninny!” Quinton gasped out between shouts of laughter. “Unmanly!” He gave her a resounding clout on the shoulder, knocking her askew in her chair. “You woolly headed young jackanapes! Here you are, barely out of short coats, and you worry about being unmanly! Come, drink up. I want to propose a toast.” He continued to chuckle as he refilled their glasses.
“To Mr. Evelyn Dixon, the most exemplary of secretaries and the oldest man of eight and ten that ever was!” He raised his glass to Eve.