Lute leaned back in his chair. “There's consider'ble to be said on that subject,” he announced. “Work, as a general thing, I consider all right; I've told you that afore. But when it comes to--” “What do you think, Dorinda?” I interrupted. Dorinda stirred her tea. “Think?” she repeated. “I think . . . When's that Colton girl comin' to call on Comfort again?” I had taken my hat from the hook. Now, with it in my hand, I turned and faced her. “How should I know that?” I demanded. “That's a trifle off the subject, isn't it?” “Um-hm,” said Dorinda. “Maybe 'tis.” I went out hurriedly. Within the week I was at home in my new position. The strangeness of regular hours and regular employment wore away with surprising rapidity. There were, of course, mornings when sea and sky and the freshness of outdoors tempted me and I wondered whether or not I had been foolish to give up my fine and easy life. But these periods of temptation were shorter and less frequent as I became more and more familiar with my duties and with the routine of the bank. I found myself taking a greater interest in the institution and, to my astonishment, I was actually sorry when Saturday came. It seemed odd enough to once more have money in my pocket which I had earned. It was not a great amount, of course, but I felt it to be mine. Yes, there was no doubt about it, I had done the right thing, and was glad. I was grateful to Taylor for having given me the opportunity. Perhaps I should have been grateful to the person whose brutal and impertinent frankness had piqued me into grasping that opportunity, but I was not. She made her second call upon Mother two days after our impromptu picnic at Seabury's Pond. I heard all about it when I came home that afternoon. It appeared that she had brought more flowers and a fresh supply of books. She had remained even longer than on her first visit and she and Mother had talked about almost everything under the sun. One topic, however, had not been discussed, a fact which my guarded questions made certain. She, like myself, had said nothing concerning the day in the woods. “I told her of your consenting to help Mr. Taylor in his dilemma,” said Mother. “Did you?” said I. “It was kind of you to put it in that way.” “That was the truthful way of putting it, wasn't it? She seemed very much interested.” “Indeed. And surprised, I presume.” “Why, yes, I think so. She seemed surprised at first; then she laughed; I could not understand why. She has a very pleasant laugh, hasn't she?” “I have never noticed.” This was untrue. “She has. She is a charming girl. I am sorry you were not here when she called. I told her you would be home soon and asked her to wait, but she would not.” “I am glad she didn't.” “Roscoe!” “I am, Mother. That young lady comes here to see you merely because she has nothing else to do just now. I shouldn't accept too many favors from her.”