They were standing on the doorless threshold of Number One, under the fan-shaped arch through which the light had failed to shine for twenty years. From the room on the left came the squeak of Mr. Demry's fiddle and the sound of pattering feet, synchronizing oddly with the lugubrious hymn in which Mrs. Smelts, in the room opposite, was giving vent to her melancholy. Nance, eager for her chance, yearning for financial independence, obsessed by the desire to escape from the dirt and disorder and confusion about her, still hesitated. "If you're afraid I'm going to worry you," said Dan, fumbling with his cap, "I can keep out of your way all right." In an instant her impulsive hand was on his arm. "You shut up, Dan Lewis!" she said sharply. "What makes me want to take the job most is our coming home together every night like we used to." Dan's eyes, averted until now, lifted with sudden hope. "But I got a good reason for not coming," she went on stubbornly. "It hasn't got anything to do with you or the work." "Can't you tell me, Nance?" The flicker of hope died out of his face as she shook her head. He looked down the alley for a moment; then he turned toward her with decision: "See here, Nance," he said earnestly, "I don't know what your reason is, but I know that this is one chance in a hundred. I want you to take this job. If I come by for you to-morrow morning, will you be ready?" Still she hesitated. "Let me decide it for you," he insisted, "will you, Nance?" She looked up into his earnest eyes, steadfast and serious as a collie's. "All right!" she said recklessly, "have it your own way!" The first day in Mr. Clarke's office was one of high tension. Added to the trepidation of putting her newly acquired business knowledge to a practical test, was the much more disturbing possibility that at any moment Mac might happen upon the scene. Just what she was going to do and say in such a contingency she did not know. Once when she heard the door open cautiously, she was afraid to lift her eyes. When she did, surprise took the place of fear. "Why, Mrs. Smelts!" she cried. "What on earth are you doing here?" Birdie's mother, faded and anxious, and looking unfamiliar in bonnet and cape, was evidently embarrassed by Nance's unexpected presence. "He sent for me," she said, nervously, twitching at the fringe on her cape. "I wrote to his wife, but he sent word fer me to come here an' see him at ten o'clock. Is it ten yet?" "Mr. Clarke sent for _you_?" Nance began incredulously; then remembering that a stenographer's first business is to attend to her own, she crossed the room with quite a professional manner and tapped lightly on the door of the inner office. For half an hour the usually inaccessible president of the bottle factory and the scrub woman from Calvary Alley held mysterious conclave; then the door opened again, and Mrs. Smelts melted into the outer passage as silently as she had come.