She jumped up and stood before him, her hands tightly held, her lips pressed together. For a moment, so, she looked hard at him; then what there had been of anger in her gaze softened to something like sadness or pity. "_That’s_ what I meant!" He misunderstood her remark and her attitude and went still farther astray from her meaning. "You are not like any other woman I have ever known," he said, in the same soulful way. "Why can’t you be honest with me!" she broke out. She was astonishingly alive now; there was no trace of her former languor. He winced at realizing, suddenly, and too late, that he had made a false step. "Why do you make me regret having been frank?" she went on, with a despairing throb in her voice. "You have almost succeeded in making me ashamed of myself, already. _That_ is just what I disapprove of in you. Don’t imagine that you can ever deceive me with such sentimentality. I shall always know when you’re straightforward and simple. That’s what I’ve been trying to make you understand—that I _do_ know!" She turned slowly away from him, almost hopelessly. For a moment she remained immobile, then before he had recovered his wits, she had modified the situation for him. Her eyes drifted back to his as she remarked thoughtfully: "I am sure, too, that you could help me, if you would." "How?" He tried to pull himself together. "Merely by being honest with me." He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I know that’s a good deal to ask," she laughed. "Of me?" "Of any one." "I’ll try, Miss Payson," he said, not too seriously. "But you’ve frightened me. I don’t dare think too hard about anything, you’re such a witch." She released him graciously and keyed down to an easier tone. "You must forgive me if I’ve been too frank, Mr. Granthope, but this interview is almost like a first meeting, and you know how much one is apt to say in such a situation. Let’s not continue the discussion—I’m embarrassed enough already. I know I shall regret what I’ve said. We’ll talk of something pleasanter. Tell me about that pretty girl in your office." "Oh!" he exclaimed, and his tone was as if he had said, "Aha!" He wondered if it were possible that, after all, it was only this which had moved her to speak. Clytie frowned, but if she read his thought, she let it go unchallenged. "She’s an original little thing; I like her," she added. "You do?" he said mischievously exaggerating his surprise. "Yes, I do. Don’t think I’m trying to patronize her, but she’s a dear—and she’s very pretty." "Do you think so? I shall have to tell her that. She’s pretty enough, at least, to have been on the stage. She was in vaudeville for a couple of years. I first got acquainted with her at the Orpheum. I’ve known her a long time. She’s a great help and a great comfort to me, and a very clever girl." "How long has she been your assistant?" "Two years." "And you haven’t fallen in love with her yet?"