Here we got off.

We walked half-way up the little busy, narrow thoroughfare, and in at a
big, cool, cave-like entrance to some offices.

"Chesterton, Brown, Jones, and Robinson. Third Floor," I read from the
notice-board. "No lift. Come along, Million."

The stars had faded out of Million's eyes again. She looked scared. She
clutched me by the arm.

"Oh, Miss Beatrice! I do hate goin' up!"

"Why, you little silly! This isn't the dentist's."

"I know. But, oh, miss! If there is one thing I can't bear it's being
made game of," said Million, pitifully, half-way up the stairs. "This
Mr. Chesterton--he won't half laugh!"

"Why should he laugh?"

"At me, bein' supposed to have come in for all those dollars of me
uncle's. Do I look like an heiress?"

She didn't, bless her honest, self-conscious little heart. From her
brown hat, wreathed with forget-me-nots, past the pin-on blue velvet
tie, past the brown cloth costume, down to the quite new shoes that
creaked a little, our Million looked the very type of what she was--a
nice little servant-girl taking a day off.

But I laughed at her, encouraging her for all I was worth, until we
reached the third floor and the clerk's outer office of Messrs.
Chesterton, Brown, Jones, and Robinson.

I knocked. Million drew a breath that made the pin-on tie surge up and
down upon the breast of her Jap silk blouse. She was pulling herself
together, I knew, taking her courage in both hands.

The door was opened by a weedy-looking youth of about eighteen.

"Good morning, Mr. Chesterton. Hope I'm not late," Million greeted him
in a sudden, loud, aggressive voice that I had never heard from her
before; the voice of nervousness risen to panic. "I've come about that
money of mine from my uncle in----"

"Name, Miss, please?" said the weedy youth.

"Nellie Mary Million----"

"Miss Million," I amended. "We have an appointment with Mr. Chesterton."

"Mr. Chesterton hasn't come yet," said the weedy youth. "Kindly take a
seat in here."

He went into the inner office. I sat down. Million, far too nervous to
sit down, wandered about the waiting-room.

"My, it doesn't half want cleaning in here," she remarked in a flurried
whisper, looking about her. "Why, the boy hasn't even taken down
yesterday's teacups. I wonder how often they get a woman in. Look at
those cobwebs! A shaving-mirror--well, I never!" She breathed on it,
polishing it with her black moirette reticule. "Some notice