A new fear and hate of Crothers grew in her heart as she impotently suffered for the children, but Crothers was as gentle and kind to her as any wise and considerate father could have been. He was patient with her bungling and errors; he did not turn her off to his clerks for instruction, he spent his own time upon her. Every moment that he was near her Cynthia trembled, and when he accidentally touched her she recoiled sharply. Crothers noticed this, and at first it angered him; then caused him much amusement. Unconsciously the girl was fanning into sudden and violent flame that which might have slumbered on for months. Before the end of the first week Crothers had noticed how lovely Cynthia's shining braids were as they twined around her pretty, bent head. His eyes grew thoughtful as he noted the lines of the softly rounded shoulders and dainty girlish bosom. The little dent in the back of the slim neck was like a dimple and even the small roughened hands were shapely and beautiful. "How old are you, little miss?" Crothers asked her the third day of her business life, and Cynthia fearing that her youth might prove an obstacle answered blindly: "Going on--fourteen!" She looked more, for her South, in spite of all her meagre upbringing, had developed her rapidly. Crothers smiled indulgently. When Saturday night came four dollars was handed to Cynthia by Crothers himself. "It was to be three," she said, holding the money toward him. He took the fingers in his, closed them over the bills, and said: "Just a little present for a nice little girl who has tried so hard to be good." Cynthia drew back and her eyes flashed dangerously. "I do not want it!" she said quickly, and flung a dollar on the desk. "I only want what is mine!" After she had gone Crothers swore a little; then laughed. The laugh was more evil than the oath, but no one was there to hear.