Tears filled her eyes; she tried to speak, could not, turned on her pivot-chair, rested her arms on the back, and dropped her face in them. It was a long while before she was able to efface the traces of emotion. She did all she could before she forced herself to look at him again and say what she must say. "If I could--I would, Mr. Wahlbaum," she faltered. "No man has ever been kinder to me, none more courteous, none more gentle." He looked at her wistfully for a moment, and she thought he was going to speak. But he was wise in the ways of the world. He had lost. He understood it. Speech was superfluous. He was a quaint combination of good sportsman and philosophic economist. He held his peace. When she left that evening after saying good night to him she paused at the door, irresolutely, and then came back to his desk where he was still standing. For he had never failed to rise when she entered in the morning or took her leave at night. In silence, now, she offered him her hand, the quick tears springing to her eyes again; and he took it, bent, and touched the gloved fingers with his lips, gravely, in silence. * * * * * A few days later, for the first time in her experience there, Mr. Wahlbaum was not at the office. Mr. Grossman came in, leered at her, said that Mr. Wahlbaum would be down next day, lingered furtively as long as he quite dared, then took himself off, still leering. In the afternoon Athalie was notified that her salary had been raised. She went home, elated and deeply touched by the generosity of Mr. Wahlbaum, scarcely able to wait for the morrow to express her gratitude to this good, kind man. But on the morrow Mr. Wahlbaum was not there; nor did he come the day after, nor the day after that. The following Tuesday she was seated in the office and generally occupied with business provided for her by the thrifty Mr. Grossman, when that same gentleman came into the office on tiptoe. "Mr. Wahlbaum has just died," he said. In the sudden shock and consternation she had risen from her chair, and stood there, one hand resting on her desk top for support. "Pneumonia," nodded Mr. Grossman. "Sam he smoked too much all the time. That is what done it, Miss Greensleeve." Her hands crept to her eyes, covered them convulsively. "Oh!" she breathed--"Oh!" And, for a moment was not aware of the arm of Mr. Grossman around her waist,--until it tightened unctuously. "Dearie," he murmured, "don't you take on so hard. You ain't goin' to lose your job, because I'm a-goin' to be your best friend same like he was--" With a shudder she stepped clear of him; he caught her by the waist again and kissed her; and she wrenched herself free and turned fiercely on him as he advanced again, smirking, watery of eye, arms outstretched.