“I can’t help what she needs,” said Jeanette, turning away from Dorothy, who was pretending to be almost weeping. “I came to ask you for a position, not out of charity, but because my uncle was your chum at college, and—” “Wait a minute,” said Mr. Irving; “I never heard of Roger Arundel.” “Oh, you must have forgotten him, then,” said Jeanette, tossing her head, as if it were a matter of no moment. “But I’d like a position all the same. I’m a competent secretary, and can give satisfaction, I’m sure.” Mr. Irving was at his wits’ end. He looked at the two young ladies—Dorothy crumpling her handkerchief into her eyes, and looking very forlorn and pathetic; Jeanette rather haughty and dignified, with an air of standing her ground in spite of the impostor who was trying to take her place. “You are experienced, you say?” he said, turning to Jeanette, and thinking that, if she were indeed competent, he might find a place for her. “Yes, sir,” she replied, taking off her gloves; “shall I go right to work?” “Oh, bless my soul, no!” cried the flurried old gentleman. “I haven’t engaged you yet. I don’t do things on the jump like that. Look here, Miss—you first one—what’s your name?” “Mary Crane,” said Dorothy, saying the first name that came into her head, and feeling that she couldn’t keep up the game much longer. “Well, Miss Mary Crane, you go on with your adding, and I’ll look into your case later. It seems to me you were pretty sharp to pick up information on a street-car and put it to use so quickly! Did you overhear all that Arundel business, too?” “Yes, sir,” stammered Dorothy, who was, in truth, nearly choking with laughter. “Well, you’re a quick-witted young person, whatever else you may be. Now you go on and add. Miss Arundel, I’ll talk with you. You say you’ve had experience. Where have you worked?” Jeanette looked blank. This question had not been in her rehearsals, and she was not as quick at invention as Dorothy. While she hesitated, the door opened again, and Betty walked in unannounced. She closed the door behind her, and said, in a hoarse whisper: “Mr. Irving, I am Miss Arundel. I called to see you in hopes you could give me employment of some sort.” “Three of ’em!” exclaimed Mr. Irving. “Bless my soul!” And he sat helplessly looking at the three girls. He had no suspicion of Betty’s identity, for her long garments and thick veil and dark glasses were a complete disguise. The other two he had seen but once or twice, and of course did not recognize them in grown-up attire. Not a notion of a “joke” entered his mind, but he was mystified by what appeared to be a most extraordinary situation. “You are Miss Frances Arundel?” he said, looking directly at Betty. “Yes, sir,” she replied hoarsely, but steadily. “I came to see you about—” “I have your note,” said Mr. Irving, the paper being still in his hand.