r to come here."

In a general way, Mr. Peters did not approve of women in journalism, but
he did disapprove very particularly of making any distinction between
the sexes in the office. Yet frequently he found himself gripping the
chair arm to prevent himself from rising when she entered; and in his
secret soul he knew that he looked out of the window to note the weather
before giving her an out-of-town assignment. When she came into the city
room now he conquered this annoying impulse of politeness by not
immediately looking up.

"You sent for me?"

"Go up to the hotel and see this man" (he underscored the name and
handed her the proof); "there might be a story in him. He saved
somebody's life out West--his guide's, as I recall it. Noble-hero
story--brave tenderfoot rescuing seasoned Westerner--reversal of the
usual picture. Might use his photograph."

"I'll try," as she took the slip. It was characteristic of her not to
ask questions, which was one of the several reasons why the city editor
approved of her.

"In that event I know we can count on it." Mr. Peters waited expectantly
and was not disappointed.

She was walking away but turned her head and looked back at him over her
shoulder. The sudden, sparkling smile changed her face like some
wizard's magic from that of a sober young woman very much in earnest to
a laughing, rather mischievous looking little girl of ten or twelve.

There are a few women who even at middle-age have moments when it seems
as though the inexorable hand of Time were forced back to childhood by
the youthfulness of their spirit. For a minute, or perhaps a second
merely, the observer receives a vivid impression of them as they looked
before the anxieties and sorrows which come with living had left their
imprint.

Helen Dunbar had this trick of expression to a marked degree and for a
fleeting second she always looked like a little girl in shoe-top frocks
and pigtails. Mr. Peters had noticed it often, and as a student of
physiognomy he had found the transformation so fascinating that he had
not only watched for it but sometimes endeavored to provoke it. He also
reflected now as he looked after her, that her appearance was a credit
to the sheet--a comment he was not always able to make upon the
transitory ladies of his staff.

The unconscious object of the newspaper's attention was seated at a desk
in the sitting-room of his suite in the Hotel Strathmore, alternately
frowning and smil