he had hoped that he would not have a
dictionary.

Then Stanway began to look through a pile of correspondence, and to
scribble in a large saffron-coloured diary. He went out to Mr. Mayer;
Mr. Mayer came in to him; they called to each other from room to room.
The machinery stopped beneath and started again. A horse fell down in
the yard, and Stanway, watching from the window, exclaimed: 'Tsh! That
carter!'

Various persons unceremoniously entered and asked questions, all of
which Stanway answered with equal dryness and certainty. At intervals he
poked the fire with an old walking-stick, Ethel never glanced up. In a
dream she handled the dictionary, the letter, the blank paper, and wrote
unfinished phrases with the thick office pen.

'Done it?' he inquired at last.

'I--I--can't make out the figures,' she stammered. 'Is that a 5 or a 7?'
She pushed the letter across.

'Oh! That's a French 7,' he replied, and proceeded to make shots at the
meaning of sentences with a _flair_ far surpassing her own skill, though
it was notorious that he knew no French whatever. She had a sudden
perception of his cleverness, his capacity, his force, his mysterious
hold on all kinds of things which eluded her grasp and dismayed her.

'Let's see what you've done,' he demanded. She sighed in despair,
hesitating to give up the paper.

'Mr. Twemlow, by appointment,' announced a clerk, and Arthur Twemlow
walked into the office.

'Hallo, Twemlow!' said Stanway, meeting him gaily. 'I was just expecting
you. My new confidential clerk. Eh?' He pointed to Ethel, who flushed to
advantage. 'You've plenty of them over there, haven't you--girl-clerks?'

Twemlow assented, and remarked that he himself employed a 'lady
secretary.'

'Yes,' Stanway eagerly went on. 'That's what I mean to do. I mean to buy
a type-writer, and Miss shall learn shorthand and type-writing.'

Ethel was astounded at the glibness of invention which could instantly
bring forth such an idea. She felt quite sure that until that moment her
father had had no plan at all in regard to her attendance at the office.

'I'm sure I can't learn,' she said with genuine modesty, and as she
spoke she became very attractive to Twemlow, who said nothing, but
smiled at her sympathetically, protectively. She returned the smile. By
a swift miracle the violet was back again in its native bed.

'You can go in there and finish your work, we shall disturb you,' said
her father, pointing to the