"You can't resign for the simple reason that you're already fired," she sputtered. "I never allow any one to give _me_ notice, young man. No one ever left me without being discharged, let me tell you that. Where the dev--Oh, here it is!" She not only had found the pocket but the crisp slip of paper that it contained. "Here is a check for your week's wages. It isn't up till next Monday, but take it and get out. I never want to see your ugly face again." She crumpled the bit of paper in her hand and threw the ball in his direction. Its flight ended half-way down the steps. "Come and get it, if you want it," she said. "Good day, madam," he said crisply, and turned on his heel. "How many times must I tell you not to call me--Come back here, Dolly! I want to see you." But her tall, perplexed daughter-in-law passed out through the door, followed by the erect and lordly Mr. Trotter. "Good-bye, Tommie," whispered Katie, as he donned his grey fedora. "Good-bye, Katie," he said, smiling, and held out his hand to her. "You heard what she said. If you should ever think of resigning, I'd suggest you do it in writing and from a long way off." He looked behind the vestibule door and recovered a smart little walking-stick. "Something to lean upon in my misfortune," he explained to Katie. Young Mrs. Millidew was standing at the top of the steps, evidently waiting for him. Her brow wrinkled as she took him in from head to foot. He was wearing spats. His two-button serge coat looked as though it had been made for him,--and his correctly pressed trousers as well. He stood for a moment, his head erect, his heels a little apart, his stick under his arm, while he drew on,--with no inconsiderable effect--a pair of light tan gloves. And the smile with which he favoured her was certainly not that of a punctilious menial. On the contrary, it was the rather bland, casual smile of one who is very well satisfied with his position. In a cheery, off-hand manner he inquired if she was by any chance going in his direction. The metamorphosis was complete. The instant he stepped outside of Mrs. Millidew's door, the mask was cast aside. He stood now before the world,--and before the puzzled young widow in particular,--as a thoroughbred, cocksure English gentleman. In a moment his whole being seemed to have undergone a change. He carried himself differently; his voice and the manner in which he used it struck her at once as remarkably altered; more than anything else, was she impressed by the calm assurance of his inquiry. She was nonplussed. For a moment she hesitated between resentment and the swift-growing conviction that he was an equal. For the first time within the range of her memory, she felt herself completely rattled and uncertain of herself. She blushed like a fool,--as she afterwards confessed,--and stammered confusedly: "I--yes--that is, I am going home." "Come along, then," he said coolly, and she actually gasped.