"I don't think he'll come this morning now. He may this afternoon." "I can't wait till the afternoon," I said, glancing at the little clock on the mantelpiece of the type-writing-room--the little clock that had given the "Ting" that had startled me so on the day of the examination in Method. "Is it anything I can tell him?" That, of course, was quite out of the question. "I'll see if he's back home yet," I replied. Then Kitty's uneasiness and curiosity got the better of her delicacy about the sky-blue uniform. She looked fixedly at her thin wrists and her fingers gave little touches to the lace about them as she spoke. "Jeff," she said timorously, "I don't know whether you know what--what they're saying about you--I'm sure it's a hideous lie, but--but it's upset me frightfully----" She stopped abruptly, and seemed even then to wish she had not spoken. "You seem very easily upset nowadays," I said shortly, quite ready to quarrel if needs be. But she ignored my tone. "You know they're saying--everybody's saying--all the people here, I mean." "What?" I demanded. But her courage failed her. She stopped the fiddling at her wrists, and, giving me a long look said, "You know I love you, Jeff, whatever happens----" It was what I had begun to fear--that there would be no shaking her off. She was far, far too faithful. "I see," I said slowly. "I know what you mean.... Well, it was quite true. I _was_ a commissionaire--until an hour ago. They've sacked me.... I suppose Archie told you?" "Girl-faced little wretch! But, Jeff----" I took her up. "Well, it's that that I want to see him about. But as regards you and me--if you want it to make a difference----" It was a plain offer to release her, but I don't think she understood it as that. Indeed, her manner puzzled me entirely. It was eager, shrinking, wistful and apprehensive all at once, and she appeared to be trying to shake off something--something preposterous. Well, that sky-blue uniform had been preposterous enough. "It shall make a difference--if you wish," I offered again proudly. "No," she murmured, apparently understanding this time, and busy with her lace again. Then I entered into I know not what fantastic explanation of the curious fact that a man with the world in his grasp should have chosen to touch his cap to editors and proprietors. She tried to look as if she believed me, but it was plain that she didn't in the least. Once or twice she tried to interrupt me, but my patience was quickly running out. "So you see how it was," I said at last, dropping my voice as Weston, the secretary-bird passed. "It was no business of his, and I want to know what he's got to say about it. You can tell him so if you like." Again that inexplicable look of timorousness came into her small eyes. "You _mean_ the commissionaire's job, of course?" she said. "I mean the commissionaire's job," I replied.