ind--that is quite evident. Please
to recollect that I am Margery Conway, not--not Susie--whoever she may
be."

He laughed a rollicking, maudlin laugh. The brandy was beginning to
diffuse itself through his brain.

"I'll never call you anything but Margery again," he cried, "beautiful,
peerless Margery, the sweetest, jolliest, most bewitching and lovable
shop girl in all New York."

The young girl looked at him with dilated eyes. Every impulse in her
terrified heart warned her to turn and fly from the place, but it was
all in vain. She could not have moved hand or foot if her very life had
been the forfeit.

"So you are toiling away in a place like this for a mere pittance," he
went on; "probably hardly enough to keep soul and body together. That's
a confounded shame for a pretty girl like you. Work isn't for such as
you--you ought to be out in the sunshine, dressed in silks and velvets
and diamonds galore. It's bad enough for the old and ugly--those whose
hair is streaked with gray and around whose eyes the crow's feet have
been planted by the hand of time, to work--ay, toil for their bread. By
Jove, I say you are far too lovely for such a fate!"

"Sir!" cried Margery, drawing herself up to her fullest height. "I work
for my living, but I want you to understand that I am proud of the fact,
instead of deeming it a disgrace, as you seem to think it.

"Up to this hour I have always considered you a man of honor--one of
nature's noblemen--a gentleman. Now I know you as you are--a _roue_--ay,
a scoundrel. I would scorn to remain another hour in your employ. Money
earned in this establishment from this moment would burn my fingers."

"Hoity-toity! Don't get big feelings too suddenly, my pretty dear," he
cried, with a load, hilarious laugh. "Lord! what simpletons some girls
are! You're standing in your own light, pretty one! Can't you see that?"

"Sir!" cried Margery, struggling to free herself from the grasp of his
strong hand, "it is dastardly, it is cowardly to summon me here to
subject me to--insult."

"'Pon my honor, I want to be friendly, but you won't have it so--you
seem determined to kick up a row. Come, now, be friendly; sit down here
and we'll talk it over."

"Unhand me!" cried Margery in terror. "Let me go, or I shall scream for
help!"

"You won't do any such thing, my little ruffled birdling," he cut in, an
angry light leaping up into his eyes, adding: "I am disposed to treat
you very kindly, but yo