He bowed slightly. "Then at the end of the week, Saturday?" "Yes, sir, Saturday night." He again bowed slightly to signify that it was understood and that their talk was ended. She took her lunch hour to write to Mason. She put many sheets in the machine and crumpled them into the waste basket in accomplishing this: _Dear Mason: I have just learned of your kindness to me at the hospital. Thank you for the thought._ _I find that I owe you $269.60, which I will repay in installments. I enclose $12 for first installment. I regret that I am unable to pay it all at once. I am leaving the office. Please don't write._ _Congratulations on your success._ _Sincerely, Georgia Connor._ She felt as she dropped the note in the mail chute that Mason was a man to love. Imagine Jim doing her a great service and keeping it quiet. Jim took his affections out in words and physical embrace. Jim--she caught herself up suddenly. This wasn't being resigned, as she had prayed God she might be. She answered half a dozen want ads before she could get the upset price she had determined on--eighteen dollars. She covenanted for this finally with a frowsy looking, bald little lawyer, in an old-fashioned five-story, pile-foundationed, gray stone building on Clark street, put up soon after the fire. The windows were seldom washed and there were two obsolete rope elevators. The little lawyer, Mr. Matthews, had a large single room in which he sublet desk-room to a pair of young real-estaters. Georgia didn't like the looks of the place, but inasmuch as Mr. Matthews didn't haggle an instant about her salary, she took it. She had nothing important to do. Mr. Matthews' mind was fussy and unsystematic. He had little business and set her to copying over his briefs of bygone years. "Codifying," he called it; why she never knew. She shrewdly suspected she was engaged rather as a "front" to impress clients than to work at her trade. Whenever a visitor, whether collector or suspender peddler, came to see Mr. Matthews, that attorney bade him sit a few minutes while he finished up a letter that had to catch the Twentieth Century or the five thirty Pennsylvania Limited, as the case might be. Then he would fake a letter and Georgia would help him at the end by inquiring, "Special delivery, I suppose, sir?" It answered her purpose for the time being, but she hadn't the vaguest intention of staying. She saw there was no future. Mr. Matthews each morning requested her to oblige the young real-estaters by "helping them out" with their correspondence. "Helping them out" meant doing it all. Mr. Matthews was brimming with euphemisms. Likewise they, the real estaters, got to asking her to "help out" their friends, which she good-naturedly did--in hours.