She met him again when she passed the offices in leaving for the night, and he again stared fixedly, wearing his repulsive, scarlet smile. She jumped at the conclusion that old Mr. Meyer had mentioned that she came from a reformatory, and hurried by with burning cheeks. The night air refreshed her a little, but the way home seemed endless, and the three flights from Mrs. St. Aubyn's door to the dormered bedroom were appalling in prospect. She entered faint with hunger and fagged with a thoroughness she had not known since the earlier days in the refuge laundry. Amy sprang up from a novel. "Don't say a word," she charged. "I suspicioned how it would be when you didn't show up for lunch. Not that I expected you, though. I'd have bet a pound of chocolates you wouldn't come." Jean was content to say nothing and let herself be mothered. Amy showed no trace of fatigue. She had changed her black blouse for a white one of some soft fabric, and looked as fresh and pink-cheeked as if she had idled the live-long day. "Now for the pick-me-up," she said briskly, after making Jean snug among the pillows; and what with a tiny kettle and a spirit-lamp, some sugar which she rummaged from a bureau drawer, and a little milk from the natural refrigerator of the window-sill, she concocted in no time a really savory cup of tea. Then, only, Jean found voice. "Did you know all the time," she demanded, "that Meyer & Schwarzschild's is no better than a sweat-shop?" "I worked there a year," Amy returned sententiously. "I'm not saying it was as bad all along as now. It was as decent as any at first, and I hear that even now the room where the cutters work is pretty fair." "Does Miss Archer know? But that's impossible." "Of course she doesn't. And, though you mayn't believe it, old Mr. Meyer doesn't know either. You saw what he is! It's only hospitals and orphan asylums he thinks about. He totters down to business for about an hour a week, and if he ever pokes his dear old nose into one of the workrooms, it's early in the morning before the air gets so thick you could slice it." "But his partner--Schwarzschild? Where is he?" "Dead. They keep the name because the firm is an old one. It's all Meyer now, and that doesn't mean Jacob Meyer, Sr., but Jake. You probably saw Jake. He has tomato-colored lips and an affectionate disposition." Jean shivered. "Why didn't you tell me?" "How could I? Everything was settled before I knew you were going there. Anyhow, it's a living while you are hunting something better. I'm in hopes to get you in where I am. I spoke to a floor-walker I know to-day. My department is full, but they'll probably need more help downstairs for the Christmas rush." "That would be merely temporary."