“I don’t despise anybody, Miss Trant, as it happens!” protested Smithie, facing me with the sudden defiance of a mild nature touched in its tenderest spot. “_You_ didn’t ought to speak sarcastically to me, just because _you_ can get married at once instead of waiting—years—till he can afford——” “Well, and you needn’t despise me for that other reason, at all events,” I said, a little mollified by the tears that were now welling up in the dreamy eyes, “for, whatever else I may be going to do, Miss Smith, I am not going to marry Mr. Waters for his money!” I didn’t add that I shouldn’t ever marry him at all, but that his money was quite good enough to get engaged to him on. However, had I openly announced this, I don’t think she could have looked more surprised. “Not for his money—marry him for _love_, then? _Him?_” screamed little Miss Holt before she could stop herself. Then she clapped her hand over her wide-open mouth, another involuntary gesture, caused partly, I suppose, by the impulse to keep back anything further that might offend me, and partly by the appearance at the door of Mr. Dundonald. It was to everybody’s amazement that this was not immediately followed by the inevitable “_Talk_-ing, ladies!” and the scowl. But an extensive smile creased Mr. Dundonald’s shut fist of a face into unfamiliar lines of benevolence; he beamed upon us all as he announced in a voice as suavely unfamiliar as the smile, “Miss Trant! I am sorry to interrupt your conversation, but Mr. Waters would be much obliged if you would go back to his room again for a moment, as he wishes to say a few words to you!” “Oh, certainly,” I said, wondering what in the world this additional “order” might be. The girls didn’t “wonder.” I know they thought it was for another good-bye—especially Smithie, one-idea’d simpleton! I felt her demure little smile in the small of my back as I turned to the door. Mr. Dundonald—oh, unprecedented occurrence!—held it open for me, murmuring, as I passed out, “Miss Trant! May I be permitted to proffer my very heartiest good wishes on the occasion of this—this delightful announcement?” “Oh! Thank you so much,” I said pleasantly. (“Worm!” I thought.) So the Governor had told Mr. Dundonald while I was receiving the congratulations of my colleagues.... I saw in his eye—grey, fishy, and always looking as if “the Main Chance” were plainly visible just ahead of any person he addressed—that already my personality had changed from that of the twenty-five-shillings-a-week typist, clad in her “all-I’ve-got” serge costume and liable to dismissal at his hands, to that of young Mrs. William Waters, who, gorgeous in silk, satin and sables, would one of these days be calling at the office to pick up the head of the firm and to motor him home with her! Mr. Dundonald’s new manner was a forecast of his reception of me when that day should dawn! If _he_ only knew!