"Not much. I took dictation in long hand for perhaps a dozen letters--most of them short ones. He said he was behind on his personal correspondence. Then he went away and left me. He goes down to his office at the Denby Iron Works every forenoon, I understand. Anyway, there I was, left in that fascinating room with all those cabinets full of treasures that I so longed to explore, but tied to a lot of scrawly notes and a typewriter. I forgot to say there was one of those disappearing typewriters in a desk over by the window. It wasn't quite like Gladys's, but the keyboard was, and I very soon got the run of it. "At one o'clock he came back. I had the letters all done, and they looked lovely. I was rather proud of them. I passed them over for him to sign, and waited expectantly for a nice little word of commendation--which I didn't get." "Oh, but I'm sure he didn't--didn't realize that--that--" "Oh, no, he didn't realize, of course, that this was my maiden effort at private secretarying," laughed Betty, a little ruefully, "and that I wanted to be patted on the head with a 'Well done, little girl!' He just shoved them back for me to fold and put in the envelopes; and just then Benton came to announce luncheon." "But tell me about the luncheon." "There isn't much to tell. There were just us three at the table, Mr. Denby, Mrs. Gowing, and myself. There was plenty to eat, and it was very nice. But, dear, dear, the dreariness of it! With the soup Mrs. Gowing observed that it was a nice day. With the chicken patties she asked if I liked Dalton; and with the salad she remarked that we had had an unusually cold summer. Dessert was eaten in utter silence. Why, mother, I should die if I had to spend my life in an atmosphere like that!" "But didn't Mr. Denby say--anything?" "Oh, yes. He asked me for the salt, and he gave an order to Benton. Oh, he's such fascinating company--he is!" At the disturbed expression on her mother's face, Betty gave a playful shrug. "Oh, I know, he's my respected employer, and all that," she laughed; "and I shall be very careful to do his bidding. Never fear! But that doesn't mean that I've got to love him." Helen Denby flushed a painful red. "But I wanted--I hoped you would--er--l-like him, my dear," she faltered. "Maybe I shall--when I get him--er--trained," retorted Betty, flashing a merry glance into her mother's dismayed eyes. "Don't worry, dear. I was a perfect angel to him to-day. Truly I was. Listen! After luncheon Mr. Denby brought me three or four newspapers which he had marked here and there; and for an hour then I read to him. And what do you think?--when I had finished he said, in that crisp short way of his: 'You have a good voice, Miss Darling. I hope you won't mind if I ask you to read to me often.' And of course I smiled and said no, indeed, I should be glad to read as often as he liked." "Of course!" beamed the mother, with so decided an emphasis that Betty exclaimed warningly:--