“I am inclined to suspect that male visitors are not very common, here,” thought Kenyon, with a good-humored smile. One of them, a dark-skinned, black-eyed girl, who plainly showed her Neapolitan blood, approached him. “Did you want to see anyone, please?” she asked. “The secretary, Miss Gilbert,” answered he. “You’ll find her in the office,” directed the black-eyed girl, pointing to an open door across the hall. “Walk right in.” “Thank you.” He entered at the door indicated and found himself in an apartment lighted only by a shaded cluster of bulbs which hung low over a big desk in the centre of the floor. The shade threw the light downward upon a girl whose beautifully posed head and great mass of dark hair immediately told him who she was. She was bent over the desk, writing; and without looking up, she asked: “What is it, please?” Kenyon afterwards admitted that at that moment his heart was pounding as it had never pounded before; but when he answered, his voice was calm and assured. “I have come to see the secretary,” said he, “and was told I’d find her here.” At the first sound of his voice she started and lifted her head. The light showed him the color leave her face and then stream back, brilliantly. The surprise was a sharp one, but she did not lose the air of proud self-possession which seemed so natural to her. However, when she spoke, there was a slight break in her voice, a fact which she noticed and which caused her evident annoyance. “I am the secretary,” she said. “Ah!” He took a forward step. The light now fell upon him also, and showed a look of mild surprise. “Thank you.” “Will you state your business,” she asked, coldly. “I have a great deal to do, and it is getting late.” “Pardon me,” bowing. “I have recently heard good reports of this work, and had thought to send the treasurer a check if I found them verified.” “The hour is rather unconventional,” she answered. And as he looked at her he could have sworn that he saw a quick flash of amusement in the dark eyes. “It must be the light,” he thought. “It sometimes plays tricks like that.” Then he continued, aloud, “I fancy that unconventionality is as a rule the usual thing with me.” “Will you sit down?” She pointed to a chair beside the desk. “Thank you.” He seated himself and she regarded him with serious attention. Not since the first surprise had she betrayed the slightest sign of ever having seen him before. “We are always glad to have people investigate us,” she said. “A great deal of money is paid out of our fund during the year, and, of course, it is necessary that more should come in if the work is to go on.” “Of course,” replied he. “There are people who contribute regularly,” she proceeded. “These help us a very great deal. But what they give is not nearly enough; and we are pleased to have new interest aroused, even if it is only passing.”