and
proper, and not give you any more trouble,' announced Vava, who meant
what she said, though she did not always act up to her excellent
resolutions, as will be seen.

In fact, only two days later she made her sister nervous, besides
annoying her; for, as the elder girl was walking towards the village to
Mr. Stacey's office, in answer to a message from him requesting her to
call, she saw her sister, whom she had missed for the last hour, sitting
beside Mr. Montague Jones in his motor, being whirled past her at a
terrible speed, or at least so it seemed to her. Whether Vava saw her or
not Stella could not be sure; but she took no notice of her, neither did
Mr. Jones, whom she supposed did not recognise her. Rather ruffled at
the occurrence, Miss Wharton continued her way to the lawyer's, her
pretty head held still more erect, and a slightly scornful smile on her
face at the way her sister's indignation against the London Laird had
evaporated.

'Well, Miss Wharton, my dear, I have good news for you--at least, I
suppose I must call it good news, though it means that we shall lose
you, for the people whose advertisement I answered have written offering
you the post of secretary to the junior partner of a very good firm in
the City of London--Baines, Jones & Co. Your hours will be ten till
four, short hours for London clerks--er, secretaries I mean; and your
work will be to translate French letters for him and write French
answers, which he will dictate in English. You see it is a position of
trust, because they don't know much French and have to trust to your
translating their letters faithfully, and that I was able to assure them
you would do. In fact, after what I said they were quite ready to take
you, and it is the best I can do for you--not what I should like for
your father's daughter, but it might be worse. You will have a nice
little room to yourself with your typewriter, and need have nothing to
do with any one, and I may tell you that if you give satisfaction your
salary will be raised.'

'Thank you very much, Mr. Stacey,' replied Stella briefly. She was
grateful, and the old man knew it; but the vision his words brought up
of her future life in a stuffy, dingy City office, sitting at a
typewriter writing dull business letters--a very different thing from
the literary work she had helped her father with--depressed her for a
moment. Then she roused herself, and went on to speak of the arrangement
which had be