“You copy very neatly and accurately, Miss Marlowe,” he said quickly, as she was about to turn respectfully and leave him. “Thank you, sir,” said the beautiful girl, blushing. “I am very glad, indeed, that I please you. It is my first position and I am naturally a little nervous.” “You have never worked in an office before, then,” said the old lawyer, glancing her over critically. “Well, you are doing nicely, and Sands tells me you are very rapid.” “I do manage the typewriter very easily, sir,” said the young girl, smiling, “and I am studying very hard. I shall soon be a stenographer.” “Then I’ll have you in here where I can dictate to you,” said the lawyer, quickly. “By Jove! What a treat that will be after two years of Miss Dixon!” His extraordinary manner astonished the girl a little, but after a moment of embarrassment she managed to stammer: “Oh, but I may never be as proficient as Miss Dixon; she takes notes like lightning, while I can only write fifty words a minute.” “Well, I could talk slower,” said the lawyer, slyly, giving her another sharp look over his glasses. Dollie Marlowe smiled, but she was considerably puzzled. It was the longest conversation that she had had with her employer. For she had only been working two weeks, and it was the first position of any kind that she had ever occupied. She was only seventeen, but quite large for her age, and up to a few months before had always lived in the country. As she bowed politely to the lawyer and hurried away from his desk, she could not help wondering if he had guessed just how green and simple she was, and whether his words were intended for anything more than kindly encouragement. When she reached the little office where her typewriter stood, Dollie went on with her work as steadily as ever, but more than once she caught herself thinking of her employer’s words and wondering if he really did want her to sit in his office. Dollie Marlowe’s life in the city had not been without its experiences, and at times there was a cloud on the fair girl’s brow as though some of those experiences had been woefully bitter. She rarely said anything about her own life, but the name of her twin sister was frequently on her lips, and this sister was now a nurse in Charity Hospital. “My sister Marion is as beautiful as a saint,” she had told Miss Dixon. “She has magnificent gray eyes and such a queenly air. Oh, I could talk forever and not tell half of Marion’s virtues!” “If she is prettier than you are she must be beautiful,” Miss Dixon had said, honestly. She was one of the few plain women who could see beauty in others and admit it. She came into the little office while Dollie was working, only a few minutes after the talk with Mr. Atherton.