of
disgust.

"If _that's_ a genteel West End Intelligence Office," cried Aunt Faith,
as she touched the sidewalk, "let's go downtown and try some of the
common ones."

A large hall--where the candidates were ranged on settees under order
and restraint, and the superintendent, or directress, occupied a desk
placed upon a platform near the entrance--was the next scene whereon
Miss Henderson and Faith Gartney entered. Things looked clean and
respectable. System obtained here. Aunt Faith felt encouraged. But she
made no haste to utter her business. Tall, self-possessed, and
dignified, she stood a few paces inside the door, and looked down the
apartment, surveying coolly the faces there, and analyzing, by a shrewd
mental process, their indications.

Her niece had stopped a moment on the landing outside to fasten her boot
lace.

Miss Henderson did not wear hoops. Also, the streets being sloppy, she
had tucked up her plain, gray merino dress over a quilted black alpaca
petticoat. Her boots were splashed, and her black silk bonnet was
covered with a large gray barege veil, tied down over it to protect it
from the dripping roofs. Judging merely by exterior, one would hardly
take her at a glance, indeed, for a "fust-class" lady.

The directress--a busy woman, with only half a glance to spare for
anyone--moved toward her.

"Take a seat, if you please. What kind of a place do you want?"

Aunt Faith turned full face upon her, with a look that was prepared to
be overwhelming.

"I'm looking for a place, ma'am, where I can find a respectable girl."

Her firm, emphatic utterance was heard to the farthest end of the hall.

The girls tittered.

Faith Gartney came in at this moment, and walked up quietly to Miss
Henderson's side. There was visibly a new impression made, and the
tittering ceased.

"I beg pardon, ma'am. I see. But we have so many in, and I didn't fairly
look. General housework?"

"Yes; general and particular--both. Whatever I set her to do."

The directress turned toward the throng of faces whose fire of eyes was
now all concentrated on the unflinching countenance of Miss Henderson.

"Ellen Mahoney!"

A stout, well-looking damsel, with an expression that seemed to say she
answered to her name, but was nevertheless persuaded of the utter
uselessness of the movement, half rose from her seat.

"You needn't call up that girl," said Aunt Faith, decidedly; "I don't
want her."

Ellen Mahoney had giggled am