She looked imploringly at Mr. Irving, who, to tell the truth, had quite forgotten the note he had received an hour or so before. He had read it hastily and intended, when the writer came, to turn her over to his clerk; but Dorothy’s earnest face arrested his attention, and he paused as he was about to ring the bell for his attendant. “You speak of Roger Arundel,” he said, glancing at the note he held in his hand. “I never knew any one by that name.” “You didn’t, sir?” Dorothy exclaimed, looking greatly surprised. “Why, wasn’t he in your class at college?” “No, he was not,” said Mr. Irving, decidedly. “What college did he attend?” “I don’t know,” faltered Dorothy, “but—it must have been some other William Irving, then. But, please, can’t you find me some employment? I am greatly in need of it!” Mr. Irving looked at the agitated girl, and felt sorry for her. “What can you do?” he said, not unkindly. “Have you had any experience in clerical work?” “Clerical work?” said Dorothy, opening her eyes. “Do you mean church work? I belong to the Sunday-school.” It chanced that Dorothy had never heard the word “clerical” used before, and she imagined it referred to the clergy. Mr. Irving bit his lips to keep from smiling. “I mean office work,” he said; “have you ever been in an office?” “Oh, no, sir; you see, we just lost our money lately. But I’m sure I could learn.” “Are you a stenographer? Can you type-write?” “No, not either. But I can write a good hand, and I’m quick at figures. Couldn’t I copy letters for you? I’m very tidy about my papers.” “H’m, well, we don’t have our letters copied by hand. I’m afraid, Miss Arundel, I can’t give you a position.” “Oh, please, sir,”—Dorothy’s lip quivered a little,—“we’re quite poor. Mother tried to take in sewing, but she’s ill now, and—and I’m the only support of the family. Do let me address envelopes or something!” Mr. Irving was very much embarrassed. He had never had an experience just like this before. Clearly, the girl was a refined little gentlewoman, and all unused to the business world. He judged her to be about eighteen or twenty, and wondered what he could do for her. He looked over the letter again. “You say your great-uncle spoke of me? Where is your uncle now?” “He’s—he’s not living, sir,” said Dorothy, looking down. “And I’m sure you’re the Mr. Irving he meant, because he said you were so kind-hearted.” Naturally this touched the old gentleman’s heart, and he truly wanted to help the girl. But in his office he employed only skilled workers, and there was no place for Dorothy. “Bless my soul, child,” he exclaimed, “I don’t know what to do with you! Arundel—Roger Arundel. No, he was not in my class, but he may have been in the college while I was there. However, I’d be glad to help you if I could,—but I can’t think of a thing for you to do.” “No?” said Dorothy, but with a hopeful inflection in her tone, as if perhaps he might yet think of something.