There was a lamp on a stand beside her and its light fell full over her. If I hadn’t known Carol Whitehall was there I’d have guessed right off it was she from the likeness to her mother. She had just the same hair and deep, rich-looking eyes except in her the hair was black as night and the eyes were young. She had a newspaper in her hand and as the doors opened she’d looked up, intent and questioning, and I saw she was beautiful. She was like a picture, leaning forward with that inquiring expression, her features clear in the flood of soft light. I got an impression of her then that I’ve never forgotten—of force and strength. It didn’t come from anything especial in her face, but from something in her general makeup, something vivid and warm, like she was alive straight through. They stayed in the room some time while I sat waiting. I’d sized up everything in sight, especially two little glass lamps on the sideboard that I thought would be a nice present for Babbitts to give me on my next birthday, when the doors slid back and Iola came in. She didn’t say anything and seemed in a hurry to be off. Mrs. Whitehall showed us out, very polite but depressed, and when the door was shut on us and we stole down the stairs, I felt the worst had come. In the vestibule I looked at Iola and said: "Well?" She was struggling with her umbrella, her face bent over it. "Fired!" she answered in a husky voice. The rain was coming down in torrents, and wanting to cuddle up comforting against her, I didn’t raise my umbrella and we walked up the street, squeezed together, with the downpour spattering around us. Believe me, the water fell under Iola’s umbrella pretty nearly as heavy as it did outside it. Miss Whitehall was broke. Mr. Harland _had_ been her financial backer and now she was ruined and the business would close. The surprise and horror of the whole thing had prostrated her and as soon as she was better she’d wind up the Azalea Woods Estates and try and sublet her offices, on which she had still a six months’ lease. "She was awful sweet," Iola sobbed. "She gave me a full month’s salary and said she’d meant to keep me forever. Oh, Molly, why did it have to happen?" I squeezed her and said: "That’s all right, dearie. We’ll all hustle and get you another job. I got lots of money and what’s mine’s yours—the way it always is between good and true friends." But Iola wouldn’t be comforted. "I can’t take your money. I never took a cent yet. And I thought I was fixed for life. I thought even if the business didn’t pan out big she’d marry Mr. Barker and get a place for me." "Marry Mr. Barker!" I cried out astonished. "Yes—that’s what I thought was coming." Believe _me_, I was surprised. She’d never dropped a hint of it. "Why didn’t you tell me that before?" I asked. "Because Tony Ford told me not to. He said I wasn’t to tell anybody—that Barker being such a big bug it would get in the papers and that might break it all up."