ated, and once,
outside the office door, he kissed her. Yet their love was kept
suspended. They could not tease each other and flirt raucously, like the
telephone-girl and the elevator-starter.

Every day he begged her to go to dinner with him, to let him call at the
flat, and after a week she permitted him to come.

Sec. 4

At dinner, when Una told her mother that a young gentleman at the
office--in fact, Mr. Babson, the editor whose dictation she took--was
going to call that evening, Mrs. Golden looked pleased, and said: "Isn't
that nice! Why, you never told mother he was interested in you!"

"Well, of course, we kind of work together--"

"I do hope he's a nice, respectful young man, not one of these city
people that flirt and drink cocktails and heaven knows what all!"

"Why, uh--I'm sure you'll like him. Everybody says he's the cleverest
fellow in the shop."

"Office, dear, not shop.... Is he-- Does he get a big salary?"

"Why, mums, I'm sure I haven't the slightest idea! How should I know?"

"Well, I just asked.... Will you put on your pink-and-white crepe?"

"Don't you think the brown silk would be better?"

"Why, Una, I want you to look your prettiest! You must make all the
impression you can."

"Well, perhaps I'd better," Una said, demurely.

Despite her provincial training, Mrs. Golden had a much better instinct
for dress than her sturdy daughter. So long as she was not left at home
alone, her mild selfishness did not make her want to interfere with
Una's interests. She ah'd and oh'd over the torn border of Una's crepe
dress, and mended it with quick, pussy-like movements of her fingers.
She tried to arrange Una's hair so that its pale golden texture would
shine in broad, loose undulations, and she was as excited as Una when
they heard Walter's bouncing steps in the hall, his nervous tap at the
door, his fumbling for a push-button.

Una dashed wildly to the bedroom for a last nose-powdering, a last
glance at her hair and nails, and slowly paraded to the door to let him
in, while Mrs. Golden stood primly, with folded hands, like a cabinet
photograph of 1885.

So the irregular Walter came into a decidedly regular atmosphere and had
to act like a pure-minded young editor.

They conversed--Lord! how they conversed! Mrs. Golden respectably
desired to know Mr. Babson's opinions on the weather, New-Yorkers, her
little girl Una's work, fashionable city ministers, the practical value
of motor-cars,