in-pen. "Quite ready," she replied.

Mrs. Sewall turned to me. "I always finish undertakings. I have
undertaken an interview with you. Let us proceed with it, then. Let us
see, Miss Armstrong, what did the young lady sign herself?"

"Y--Q--A."

"Yes. 'Y--Q--A.' First then--your name," said Mrs. Sewall.

It was my impulse to escape the grilling that this merciless woman was
evidently going to put me to; my first primitive instinct to strike my
adversary with some bitterly worded accusation and then turn and fly.
But I stood my ground. Without a quiver of obvious embarrassment, or
more than a second's hesitation, I replied, looking at Mrs. Sewall
squarely.

"My name is Ruth Chenery Vars."

Miss Armstrong scratched it in her book.

"Oh, yes, Ruth Chenery Vars. Your age, please, Miss Vars?" Mrs. Sewall
coldly inquired.

I told her briefly.

"Your birthplace?"

And I told her that.

"Your education?" she pursued.

"High-school," I replied, "one year of boarding-school, one year coming
out into society, several years stagnating in society, some travel, some
hotel life, one summer learning how to live on seven dollars a week."

"Oh, indeed!" I thought I discerned a spark of amusement in Mrs.
Sewall's ejaculation. "Indeed! And will you tell me, Miss Vars," she
went on, a little more humanely, "why you are seeking a position as
private secretary?"

"Why, to earn my living," I replied.

"And why do you wish to earn your living?"

"The instinct to exist, I suppose."

"Come," said Mrs. Sewall, "why are you here in New York, Miss Vars? You
appear to be a young lady of good birth and culture, accustomed to the
comforts, and I should say, the luxuries of life, if I am a judge. Why
are you here in New York seeking employment?"

"To avoid becoming a parasite, Mrs. Sewall," I replied.

"'To avoid becoming a parasite'!" (Yes, there was humor in those eyes. I
could see them sparkle.) "Out of the mouths of babes!" she exclaimed,
"verily, out of the mouths of babes! You are young to fear parasitism,
Miss Vars."

"I suppose so," I acknowledged pleasantly, and looked out of the window.

Beneath Mrs. Sewall's curious gaze I sat, quiet and unperturbed,
contemplating miles of roofs and puffing chimneys. I was not
embarrassed. I had once feared the shame and mortification that would be
mine if I should ever again encounter this woman, but in some miraculous
fashion I had opened my own prison doors. It flashed across me