Undoubtedly she was the handsome one--a striking figure. But somehow, for him, at any rate, lacking the peculiar charm of her plainer sister; that sober and matronly young creature in the little apron. He felt a most Quixotic interest in both of the “young orphans.” He would have done a very great deal for them. In fact, he _did_.... III He was surprised and disappointed when she didn’t appear on Monday morning. At half past ten he gave her up and went out about some business, reflecting upon the instability of women. He came back in half an hour, and had just sat down at his desk when she entered, terribly flushed and dusty. Her expression was defiant, but her voice suspiciously uncertain. “I’m very sorry to be so late,” she said. “It won’t happen again. I had to walk, and I missed the way. But I’ll arrange better after this.” To hide his own distress and hers, he promptly gave her something to type--he didn’t care what--and sat down at his own desk, where he pretended to work. But he _knew_, without venturing to turn his head, that she was stealthily wiping her eyes, and he was sure there had been some serious trouble at home. A five-mile walk along that dusty road, on an August day! Poor girl! There had indeed been a classic and unforgettable encounter, ending in a drawn battle. She couldn’t get it out of her head, no matter how she tried to concentrate her attention on this new work. In the first place, her sister and her grandmother had both protested passionately against her plan as soon as they heard of it. She had gone home triumphantly to tell them that she had a “job” at eight dollars a week, in Mr. Petersen’s office. “Why, child!” cried the old lady, affronted. “What an idea!” She was really shocked. A Defoe working for a Petersen! Minnie, too, was shocked; they both argued, reasoned and expostulated, but to no avail. Then Minnie, to the point: “How do you expect to get there, Frankie?” Her sister was slightly crestfallen. “I thought you’d drive me in,” she admitted, “I’d pay you for it.” “Thank you!” said Minnie, coldly. “But I couldn’t possibly. At that time in the morning, with all the work to be done.” “Very well,” said Frankie, “I’ll walk.” She was confident that when the time came, Minnie would yield, Minnie who was so kind-hearted, so self-sacrificing. And she couldn’t believe it when Monday morning actually came, and she remained obdurate. “I said I wouldn’t, and I _won’t_,” she repeated. “I don’t approve of your working for that man, and I certainly shan’t help you in any way.” Frances had no idea how to harness the horse; she was at her sister’s mercy, absolutely. “Minnie, don’t be such a beast! And a prig. You’re not my nurse, you know. I’m old enough to decide for myself.” “Decide everything you like,” Minnie replied, “but I shan’t help you in such a nasty, undignified affair. I can’t stop you. Why don’t you walk? You said you would.” Frances looked at her with blazing scorn.