The agent took the hint; pushed back her chair; her glove was unbuttoned and she slowly fastened it. In her heart was a great compassion for the little Doctor. "Mr. Queed, I want you to know that if I ever could be of help to you about _anything_, I'd always think it a real pleasure. Please remember that, won't you? Did you know I lived down this way, in the daytime?" "Lived?" She made a gesture toward the window, and away to the south and east. "My office is only three blocks away, down there in the park--" "Your office? You don't work!" "Oh, don't I though!" "Why, I thought you were a _lady_!" They were so close together that she was compelled to laugh full in his face, disclosing two rows of splendid little teeth and the tip of a rosy little tongue. Probably she could have crushed him by another pointing gesture, turned this time toward her honored great-grandfather who stood in marble in the square; but what was the use? "What are you laughing at?" he inquired mildly. "At your definition of a lady. Where on earth did you get it? Out of those laws of human society you write every night at my aunt's?" "No," said he, the careful scientist at once, "no, I admit, if you like, that I used the term in a loose, popular sense. I would not seriously contend that females of gentle birth and breeding--ladies in the essential sense--are never engaged in gainful occupations--" "You shouldn't," she laughed, "not in this city at any rate. It might astonish you to know how many females of gentle birth and breeding are engaged in gainful occupations on this one block alone. It was not ever thus with them. Once they had wealth and engaged in nothing but delicious leisure. But in 1861 some men came down here, about six to one, and took all this wealth away from them, at the same time exterminating the males. Result: the females, ladies in the essential sense, must either become gainful or starve. They have not starved. Sociologically, it's interesting. Make Colonel Cowles tell you about it some time." "He has told me about it. In fact he tells me constantly. And this work that you do," he said, not unkindly and not without interest, "what is it? Are you a teacher, perhaps, a ... no!--You speak of an office. You are a clerk, doubtless, a bookkeeper, a stenographer, an office girl?" She nodded with exaggerated gravity. "You have guessed my secret. I am a clerk, bookkeeper, stenographer, and office girl. My official title, of course, is a little more frilly, but you describe--" "Well? What is it?" "They call it Assistant Secretary of the State Department of Charities." He looked astonished; she had no idea his face could take on so much expression. "You! _You_! Why, how on earth did you get such a position?" "Pull," said Sharlee. Their eyes met, and she laughed him down. "Who is the real Secretary to whom you are assistant?" "The nicest man in the world. Mr. Dayne--Rev. George Dayne."