“How would you rank them?”

“Hmm. Third. No, fourth. I forgot about the ottoman. That was a precarious but ultimately very rewarding experience.”

“You short girls are so versatile.”

“There have to be some compensating factors. Gwen, stop playing with that drawer or I will call Dr. Milford myself.”

Gwen guiltily slid it closed and stood.

“Goodbye, Cecil,” she whispered, giving it a pat.

“You’ve already named the desk?”

“I’ve already named all the drawers.”

“Dear God.”

They left the office of Cooper and Lyons and locked it behind them, then stood side by side on the stairwell, peering out the grimy window.

“Mr. MacPherson says they have two new tenants coming into the second storey,” said Gwen.

“The third is still completely vacant,” said Iris. “We’re the only tenants up here, but I sense that things may be picking up. And I hear they’re breaking ground on the new building next door. I feel we should grab that office while the grabbing’s good.”

“We could go back to the bank for another loan,” said Gwen.

“We had to go to, what, fifteen different banks the first time? None of them took the idea of a marriage bureau seriously.”

“Until we saw Mr. Lastings. He liked us. And we’ve been prompt with our payments.”

“We’ve only been in business for five months,” Iris pointed out.

“Precisely. And it’s taking off. Well, rumbling down the runway. Picking up speed. Gaining lift, or whatever the term is.”

“No airplane metaphors, please,” shuddered Iris.

“Sorry. So, assume we’re paying double to the bank, double to the building, and a secretary—”

“We can’t manage it yet. Let’s hope for Cupid’s arrows to work their wonders soon. Back to work, partner.”

Their present desks had once provided a sense of ambition and optimism. Now they seemed shabby and resentful, as if they knew that the women they had faithfully served had found something better and they would soon become a distant memory.

Iris slid into her chair and rested her chin on her elbows for a moment. Her desk creaked, and she pulled back immediately and glared at it.

“Someone’s coming up the stairs,” said Gwen.

“Miss Oona Travis, I assume,” said Iris, checking her watch. “She’s early. Always a good sign. You take the lead on this one. I’m still getting my hearing back from the last one.”

They both busied themselves with paperwork to avoid the appearance of idly waiting for their next customer. Gwen glanced up with her best smile. Then it became real as she saw a woman standing in the doorway.

“Patience!” she exclaimed. “What a lovely surprise!”

“Hallo, darling,” said the woman, coming in to receive a kiss on the cheek.

“Iris, meet my cousin Patience Matheson,” said Gwen. “Lady Matheson, I should say.”

“How do you do?” said Iris, coming around the desk to shake her hand.

Lady Matheson appeared to be in her late thirties, which meant that she was probably ten years older than that, guessed Iris, basing her assessment on the expertise and expense invested in the makeup and coiffure. She was dressed in a light blue linen suit with three ropes of perfectly white, perfectly matched pearls around her neck; the strands joined at a lovely ruby pendant surrounded by white diamonds.