ch a good English hand; and I know French and Italian as well as
I do German, and your own language. If I could be of use, I would work
so hard for you."

"I dare say I shall be needing a secretary after Christmas, indeed, I'm
sure I shall," insisted the young man, more and more earnest in his
desire to do good. "I have dozens of letters to write every day, and all
sorts of odds and ends to keep straight. I could bring the things down
to your place and you could help me, if you would. But I'm afraid it
would be no end of bother to you."

"I should love it," said the girl, gently.

"Oh, it would be hard work. It would take a lot of your time, and be
worth a lot of money."

"Would it really? But you mustn't overpay me. I should be so angry if
you did that."

"There's no danger. I'm a good business man, I assure you. I should pay
a capable secretary like you--knowing several languages and all
that--say forty dollars a week. That's about two hundred francs."

"Wouldn't that be too much?"

"Hardly enough."

"You are so good--so good! But I knew you would be. I wonder if you
would think me a very bold girl if I told you something? It's this; I've
never forgotten you since those days in Paris. You were different,
somehow, from other men I had seen. I thought about you. I had a
presentiment that we should meet again. My mother dreamed of numbers to
play at roulette. I dreamed of--but oh, I am saying things I ought not
to say! Please don't blame me. When you've starved for two days, and not
known what to do--unless to die, and then a man comes who is kind, and
saves you from terrible things, you can't be as wise and well behaved as
at other times."

"Poor child," said the young man.

"It does me good to be called that. But you don't know my name, the name
of your new secretary. It is Julie--Julie de Lavalette. My mother is
the Comtesse de Lavalette. And you?"

"Oh, I'm plain Hugh Egerton," said the young man.

The girl laughed. "I do not think you are plain Hugh Egerton at all. But
perhaps an American girl would not tell you that? Hugh! What a nice
name. I think it is going to be my favourite name."

She glanced up at him softly, under long lashes,--a thrilling glance;
but he missed its radiance, for his own eyes were far away. Hugh had
been the favourite name of another girl.

When she saw that look of his, she rose from her chair. "I'm taking too
much of your time," she exclaimed, remorsefully. "I must go."