hifted her hands
from the keys and looked up vigilantly, prepared to be kind if he had
need of it, for of course people in pain did not know what they were
doing. But since there was no sense in letting people think they could
just bite one's head off and nothing to pay, she said with spirit, "But
it's ten minutes past nine, and what's this by my machine?"

Mr. Philip bowed his head with an air of meekness; he seemed to sway
under the burden of his extreme humility, to be feeling sick under the
strain of his extreme forbearance. He went on in a voice which implied
that he was forgiving her freely for an orgy of impertinence. "Will you
please take a note, Miss Melville, that Mr. Mactavish James wants to
speak to you this afternoon?"

"He usually does," replied Ellen.

"Ah, but this is a special occasion," said Mr. Philip, with so genial
an expression that she stared up at him, her eyebrows knit and her mouth
puckering back a smile, her deep hopeful prepossession, which she held
in common with all young people, that things really happened prettily,
making her ready to believe that it was all a mistake and he was about
to announce a treat or a promotion. And he, reading this ridiculous sign
of youth, bent over her, prolonging his kind beam and her response to
it, so that afterwards, when he undeceived her, there should be no doubt
at all that she had worn that silly air of expecting something nice to
be given to her, and no doubt that he had seen and understood and jeered
at it. Then the wave of his malice broke and soused her. "Things have
come to a head, Miss Melville! There's been a client complaining!"

She drew herself up. "A client complaining!" she cried, and he hated her
still more, for she had again eluded him. She had forgotten him and the
trap he had laid to make a fool of her in her suspicion that someone had
dared to question her efficiency. "Well, what's that to do with me?
Whoever's been complaining--and no doubt if your clients once began at
that game they wouldn't need to stop between now and the one o'clock
gun--it's not likely I'm among his troubles. So far as my work goes I'm
practically infallible."

"It's not your work that's been spoken of," said Mr. Philip, laughing.
"Perhaps we might call it your play."

He had begun to speak, as he always did when they were alone, in a thick
whisper, as if they were doing something unlawful together. He had drawn
near to her, as he always did, and was hunchi