"I know whether or not I like the scent of it," persisted Winifred. She began to think that officialdom in Mulberry Street affected the methods of the court circles frequented by Alice and the Mad Hatter. "Don't mind him," put in Steingall genially. "He's a living example of the close alliance between insanity and genius. On the tobacco question he's simply cracked, and that is all there is to it. Now we're wasting your time by this chatter. I'll come to serious business by asking a question which you will not find embarrassing for a good many years yet to come. How old are you?" "Nineteen last birthday." "When were you born?" "On June 6, 1894." "And where?" Winifred reddened slightly. "I don't know," she said. "What?" Steingall seemed to be immensely surprised, and Winifred proceeded forthwith to throw light on this singular admission, which was exactly what he meant her to do. "That is a very odd statement, but it is quite true," she said earnestly. "My aunt would never tell me where I was born. I believe it was somewhere in the New England States, but I have only the vaguest grounds for the opinion. What I mean is that aunty occasionally reveals a close familiarity with Boston and Vermont." "What is her full name?" "Rachel Craik." "She has never been married?" Winifred's sense of humor was keen. She laughed at the idea of "Aunt Rachel" having a husband. "I don't think aunty will ever marry anybody now," she said. "She holds the opposite sex in detestation. No man is ever admitted to our house." "It is a small, old-fashioned residence, but very large for the requirements of two women?" continued Steingall. He took no notes, and might have been discussing the weather, now that the first whiff of wonderment as to Winifred's lack of information about her birth-place had passed. "Yes. We have several rooms unoccupied." "And unfurnished?" "Say partly furnished." "Ever had any boarders?" "No." "No servants, of course?" "No." "And how long have you been employed in Messrs. Brown, Son & Brown's bookbinding department?" "About six months." "What do you earn?" "Eight dollars a week." "Is that the average amount paid to the other girls?" "Slightly above the average. I am supposed to be quick and accurate." "Well now, Miss Bartlett, you seem to be a very intelligent and well-educated young woman. How comes it that you are employed in such work?" "It was the best I could find," she volunteered. "No doubt. But you must be well aware that few, if any, among the girls in the bookbinding business can be your equal in education, and, may I add, in refinement. Now, if you were a bookkeeper, a cashier or a typist, I could understand it; but it does seem odd to me that you should be engaged in this kind of job." "It was my aunt's wish," said Winifred simply. "Ah!" Steingall dwelt on the monosyllable. "What reason did she give for such a singular choice?" he went on.