The tone in which the last sentence was uttered brought a slight flush to Dorothy's cheeks. "Now you can get on," he announced, picking up his hat. "I'm going to find offices;" and he went out like a gust of wind. Dorothy typed steadily on. Of one thing she had become convinced, that the position of secretary to John Dene of Toronto was not going to prove a rest-billet. At a little after four Marjorie Rogers knocked at the door and, recognising Dorothy's "Come in," entered stealthily as if expecting someone to jump out at her. "Where's the bear, Wessie?" she enquired, keeping a weather eye on the door in case John Dene should return. "Gone out to buy bear-biscuits," laughed Dorothy, leaning back in her chair to get the kink out of her spine. "Do you think he'll marry you?" enquired the little brunette romantically, as she perched herself upon John Dene's table and swung a pretty leg. "They don't usually, you know." "He'll probably kill you if he catches you," said Dorothy. "Oh, if he comes I'm here to ask if you would like some tea," was the airy reply. "You angel!" cried Dorothy. "I should love it." "Has he tried to kiss you yet?" demanded the girl, looking at Dorothy searchingly. "Don't be ridiculous," cried Dorothy, conscious that she was flushing. "I see he has," she said, regarding Dorothy judicially and nodding her head wisely. Dorothy re-started typing. It was absurd, she decided, to endeavour to argue with this worldly child of Whitehall. "They're all the same," continued Marjorie, lifting her skirt slightly and gazing with obvious approval at the symmetry of her leg. "You didn't let him, I hope," continued the girl. "You see, it makes it bad for others." Then a moment later she added, "It should be chocs. before kisses, and they've got to learn the ropes." "And you, you little imp, have got to learn morals." Dorothy laughed in spite of herself at the quaint air of wisdom with which this girl of eighteen settled the ethics of Whitehall. "What's the use of morals?" cried the girl. "I mean morals that get in the way of your having a good time. Of course I wouldn't----" She paused. "Never mind what you wouldn't do, Brynhilda the Bold," said Dorothy, "but concentrate on the woulds, and bring me the tea you promised." The girl slipped off the table and darted across the room, returning a few minutes later with a cup of tea and a few biscuits. "I can't stop," she panted. "Old Goggles has been giving me the bird;" and with that she was gone. It was a quarter to seven before John Dene returned. Without a word he threw his hat on the bookcase and seated himself at his table. For the next quarter of an hour he was absorbed in reading the lists and letters Dorothy had typed. At seven o'clock Dorothy placed the last list on the table before him. "Is there anything more, Mr. Dene?" she enquired. She was conscious of feeling inexpressibly weary.