aced his own chair beside her
table and sat down, copy in hand.

"This is going to be a rather difficult business," said he. "There are
many points where I wish to indicate slight changes as we go along. I
can't attempt to read the copy to you, but should like to have you give
me the opening words of each paragraph as you come to it. I think I can
recall those which contain the points for revision."

The work began. That is to say, work at the typewriter side of the room
began, and in earnest. From the first stroke of the keys it was evident
that the Judge had called to his aid a skilled worker. The steady,
smooth clicking of the machine was interrupted only at the ends of
paragraphs, when the Judge listened to the key words of the succeeding
lines. Roberta sat before that "typer" as if she were accustomed to do
nothing else for her living, her eyes upon the keys, her profile
silhouetted against the window beside her.

As far as the mechanical part of the labour was concerned, Richard had
never seen a task get under way more promptly nor proceed with greater
or smoother dispatch. As he sat beside his own window he nearly faced
the pair at the other window. Try as he would he could not keep his mind
upon his work. It was a situation unique in his experience. That he,
Richard Kendrick, should be employed in serious work in the same room
with the niece of a prosperous and distinguished gentleman, a girl who
had not hesitated to learn a trade in which she had become proficient,
and that the three of them should spend the morning in this room
together, taking no notice of each other beyond that made necessary by
the task in hand--it was enough to make him burst out laughing. At the
same time he felt a genuine satisfaction in the situation. If he could
but work in the same room with her every day, though she should
vouchsafe him no word, how far from drudgery would the labour be then
removed!

He managed to keep up at least the appearance of being closely engaged,
turning the leaves of books, making notes, arising to consult other
books upon the shelves. But he could not resist frequent furtive glances
at the profile outlined against the window. It was a distracting
outline, it must be freely admitted. Even upon the hill, seen against
the blue-and-purple haze, it had hardly been more so. What indeed could
a young man do but steal a look at it as often as he might? There was no
knowing when he should have such another chan