"I suppose I need a sedative," she said to herself. "If I were a man, I would put my feet up on the table and light a cigar, or--no! I would never practise that vilest form of the vice." (What she meant by this last phrase I cannot imagine, unless she referred to something which Mr. Juddson had been driven to do because he could not very well smoke while his sister was in the office.) "What," continued Mrs. Tarbell, "what can there be to recommend the position?" She looked at the desk. "Is it an easy position?" she said. She looked down at her feet. "Is it even a graceful position?" She swung herself to and fro on her revolving-chair. She looked about her. The office was empty; the office-boy had gone on a very long errand. "I will try it," she said, with determination. She removed all the books and papers on the right side of the table to the left side. Then she tilted back her chair, elevated her left foot cautiously, put it down, and elevated her right, placed it determinedly on the table, crossed the other foot over it, leaned forward with some difficulty to arrange her skirts, leaned back again. "My book seems to lie very easily in my lap," she said to herself. "And the leaves turn over quite willingly." One page, two pages, three pages. "After all," said she,--"after all--if one were quite alone--and had been sitting for a long time in another attitude--" Tap-tap! came a timid knock at the door. "Come in!" cried Mrs. Tarbell, resuming her former position in a great hurry, and dropping the law-journal. Tap-tap! "Come in!" said Mrs. Tarbell, picking up the law-journal. "_Come in_!" she said. And the door opened slowly. "Well?" said Mrs. Tarbell. "Is Mrs. Tarbell in?" said the party of the knocks. "I am Mrs. Tarbell. Come in, please. What can I do for you?" "I wanted to see you, ma'am." "Take a chair. Well?" "I suppose it's April weather," said the new-comer; "but the rain is right chilly, so it is; like it was a November rain, somehow. Will I put my umbreller right down here? The spring is dreadful late, and the farmers is all complainin', they tell me." Mrs. Tarbell shuddered. The new-comer was tall and gaunt and thin; her shoulders sloped, she stooped, her chin was up in the air, and she peered through spectacles. Her hat was rusty, her india-rubber gossamer was rusty, the crape on her dress was so very rusty that it seemed to be made of iron-filings. Her cheeks were the color of unburned coffee-grains or of underdone gingerbread; her nose was long; her eyes, were small and bleary; her protruding lips wrinkled up as she spoke, and displayed her poor yellow old tusks; her scant hair was dirty gray, her forehead was bald, her neck was scraggy: she was particularly and pathetically ugly. Her dress bagged about over her long waist and spidery arms. No wonder Mrs. Tarbell shuddered.