"Well, he can wait till he saves something."

"Don't make him wait too long."

It was against her better judgment that Mary Barker spoke to her
employer about Nannie. "I should want her to help me. She is not expert
enough to take your dictation, but she could relieve me of a lot of
detail."

"Well, let me have a look at her," Kingdon Knox had said.

So Nannie had come to be looked over, and she had blushed a little and
had been rather breathless as she had talked to Mr. Kingdon, and he had
been aware of the vividness of her young beauty; for Nannie had red hair
that curled over her ears, and her skin was warm ivory, and her eyes
were gray.

Her clothes were not quite up to the office standard, but Knox, having
hired her, referred the matter to Mary. "You might suggest that she cut
out thin waists and high heels," he had said; "you know what I like."

Mary knew, and Nannie's first month's salary had been spent in the
purchase of a serge one-piece frock.

Mrs. Ashburner had rebelled at the expense. But Mary had been firm. "Mr.
Knox won't have anybody around the office who looks slouchy or sloppy.
It will pay in the end."

Nannie thought Mr. Knox wonderful. "He says that he wants me to work
hard so that I can handle some of his letters."

"When did he tell you that?"

"Last night, while you were taking testimony in the library."

The office library was lined with law books. There were a handsome long
mahogany table, green covered, and six handsome mahogany chairs. Mary,
shut in with three of Knox's clients and a consulting partner, had had a
sense of uneasiness. It was after hours. Nannie was waiting for her in
the outer office. Everybody else had gone home except Knox, who was
waiting for his clients.

Mary remembered how, when she was Nannie's age, she had often sat in
that outer office after hours, and Knox had talked to her. He had been
thirty-five and she, twenty. He had a wife and a handsome home; she had
nothing but a hall room. And he had made her feel that she was very
necessary to him. "I don't know how we should ever get along without
you," he had said.

He had said other things.

It was because he had spoken of her lovely hair that she had kept it
brushed and shining. It was because his eyes had followed her pencil
that she had rubbed cold cream on her hands at night and had looked well
after her nails. It was because she had learned his taste that she wore
simple but expensive frocks. It