“My dear,” was the answer, “I have inquired everywhere, and as yet without success. To-night I am taking this skirt back to Messrs. Black and Parker, in Oxford Street, and I will ask their manager, who is quite a friend of mine, if he has an opening. Failing this I think you had better advertise, for I see that you are getting tired of doing nothing, and I do not wonder at it,—though you should be most thankful that you can afford to live without work, seeing that many people in your position would now be reduced to starvation.” That night Mrs. Bird returned from Messrs. Black and Parker’s with a radiant countenance. “My dear,” she said, “there is a coincidence, quite a wonderful coincidence. The young woman at Messrs. Black and Parker’s whose business it was to fit on the cloaks in the mantle department has suddenly been called away to nurse a sick uncle in Cornwall from whom she has expectations, and they are looking out for some one to take her place, for, as it chances, there is no one suitable for the post in their employ. I told the manager about you, and he said that I was to bring you there to-morrow morning. If they engaged you your pay would be eighteen shillings a week to begin with; which is not much, but better than nothing.” Accordingly, on the following morning, having arrayed herself in her best dress, and a pretty little bonnet that she had made with the help of Sally, Joan set out for Messrs. Black and Parker’s in the company of Mrs. Bird. Messrs. Black and Parker’s establishment was an enormous one, having many departments. “You see it is a first-class shop, my dear,” said Mrs. Bird, glancing with veneration at the huge windows filled with _chefs-d‘oeuvres_ of the milliner’s and other arts. “Now follow me, and don’t be nervous.” And she led the way through various divisions till she reached a large box built of mahogany and glass labelled “Manager’s Office. No admittance except on business.” At this moment the door of the box opened, and from it issued an oiled and curled specimen of manhood, with very white hands and hair so wavy, that it conveyed a suggestion of crimping tongs. His eye fell upon Joan, and he bowed obsequiously. “Can I do anything for you, madam?” he said. “We are so full this morning that I fear you are not being attended to.” “She is not a customer, Mr. Waters,” said Mrs. Bird, emerging from behind Joan’s tall shape: “she is the young person about whom I spoke to you, who wants a situation as show-woman.” “Oh! is she?” said Mr. Waters, with a complete change of manner; “then why didn’t you say so at first? Well, she’s a pretty girl anyway. Step in here, miss, and take off your jacket, please, so that I can see what your figure is like.” Joan did as she was told, although she felt a hate of this individual swelling in her heart. Mr. Waters surveyed her critically for half a minute or more, shutting first one eye and then the other, as though to bring her better into focus.