“I’ve done only one day’s work, Mr. Sable. It is only”--she calculated--“two and a half dollars.” She took his check for that--he did not dare press the point--and left his office. Mr. Sable smoothed his little white mustache, straightened his papers with the air of having done a good day’s work already, and pressed the buzzer for his own secretary. It was only half past nine o’clock. Freda got her hat and coat from the tiny dressing-room. Her desk was in order and there was no use in fussing over it. She wanted to get out into the clean air. The pompous little lawyer’s insinuations while they did not strike deep enough to insult her, made her feel soiled and dirty. Cele followed her into the dressing-room. “Where you going?” “Going out to look for a job.” “He let you out?” “That’s the substance of his message.” “Well--I call that--” Cele stopped, a veil of thought coming over her eyes. “Look here,” she went on, “if there’s anything I can do--” She stressed the last word violently, as if the need for action pressed upon her. “Not a thing.” “You aren’t going back to--what-you-may-call-it? The place you came from?” “Mohawk? No--mother’s coming here in a day or two. I’ll wait, and look for a job.” “A job,” said Cele, reflectively, “don’t worry too much, will you? Say--I’ll be around to see you to-night. I think it’s rotten.” Freda went out, wondering if the slanderous tongues had found even Cele’s ear. But she did not linger on thoughts of her dismissal. She was sorry to leave Mr. Flandon so, but after all he knew and understood and the whole business was so temporary anyway. Gregory should be back any day now--and they would go away and never think of such ugliness any more. It was like her that no thought of personal justification, of setting people straight on the gossip, ever entered her head. She wanted to shake them off--that was all. She wanted to get away into light and clearness and cleanness with Gregory. And it seemed to her that merely being with Gregory would make an atmosphere like that. She had received no letter from him in five or six days now and she missed one sadly. She needed that written touch of vigor and sweetness which set her days aflame with happiness. Especially now, with the knowledge that she was probably to bear his child. The lack of an address so she might send him that delightful information was distressing. She could have reached him through his lecture bureau but she had a dread of the letter going astray if it were not sent directly to him. Not a word or thought of resentment did she allow to penetrate her love. She kept herself free from that. It was harder to keep fear away. She was strolling along, passing through the shopping district, now and then stopping to look idly at something in the window when she heard herself greeted. Looking up she saw Ted Smillie. He was quietly affable and there seemed no escape from speaking to him. “How are you, Freda?” he asked calmly.