"The mistake came in the beginning, Mr. Pendleton," she said, with an effort. "And it was all my fault. You--you seemed so different from a lot of men who come into the office that I--well, I wanted to see you get started straight. In the three years I've been there I've picked up a lot of facts that aren't much use to me because--because I'm just Miss Winthrop. So I thought I could pass them on." "That was mighty white of you," he nodded. The color flashed into her cheeks. "I thought I could do that much without interfering in any other way with either of our lives." "Well?" "There were two or three things I didn't reckon with," she answered. "What were they?" he demanded. "Blake is one of them." "Blake?" His face brightened with sudden understanding. "Then the trouble is all about that box of candy?" "You shouldn't have sent it. You should have known better than to send it. You--had no right." "But that was nothing. You were so darned good to me about the typewriting and it was all I could think of." "So, you see," she concluded, "it won't do. It won't do at all." "I don't see," he returned. "Then it's because you didn't see the way Blake looked at me," she said. "Yes, I saw," he answered. "I could have hit him for it. But I fixed that." "You--fixed that?" she gasped. "I certainly did. I told him I sent the box, and told him why." "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Then they'll all know, and--what am I going to do? Oh, what am I going to do?" It was a pitiful cry. He did not understand why it was so intense, because he did not see what she saw--the gossip increasing in maliciousness; the constant watching and nods and winks, until in the end it became intolerable either to her or to Farnsworth. Nor was that the possible end. To leave an office under these conditions was a serious matter--a matter so serious as to affect her whole future. "Now, see here," he pleaded. "Don't take it so hard. You're making too much of it. Blake isn't going to talk any more. If he does--" She raised her head. "If he does, there isn't anything you can do about it." "I'll bet there is." "No--no--_no_. There isn't. I know! But you mustn't come here any more. And you mustn't talk to me any more. Then perhaps they'll forget." He grew serious. "It seems too bad if it's got to be that way," he answered. "I ought to have known," she said. "And I ought to have known, too. I was a fool to send that box into the office, but I wanted you to get it before you went home." She raised her eyes to his a moment. Then a queer, tender expression softened her mouth. "This is the end of it," she answered. "And now I'm glad you did not know any better." She rose to go, and then she noticed that he had not lunched. "I'll wait here until you come back with your sandwich," she said. "I don't want a sandwich," he protested. "Please hurry." So she waited there until he came back with his lunch, and then she held out her hand to him.