It was so abrupt that she had to wait a moment and compose herself before beginning in the same low tone: “I told you I had not come for money, and I meant it. I am tired of begging for my living. But it would cost you very little to help me to some situation. If you will do this, I will try not to trouble you again.” Mr. Bigelow pressed his lips and beat a tattoo with his fingers. “What kind of work can you do?” “I couldn't take skilled work, I suppose,” she replied a little wearily, “and I could hardly expect an office position--at my age. But I have thought of going into a department store. I really ought to be able to do something there.” Mr. Bigelow was fidgeting a little: he was thinking of the Pine Lands correspondence. “Why, yes,” he said, “I don't know but what that could be arranged. I will speak to Murray of the New York store. He is employing hundreds of people all the time, and I know he has difficulty in getting good ones.” He finished with a wave of dismissal and turned back to his letter. But the woman waited. “You will see him to-day?” she asked. “Why, yes”--rather impatiently--“I will try to see him this noon.” “And shall I come back this afternoon?” Mr. Bigelow leaned back again. “No, I hardly think that will be necessary. Let me see------” “I don't see how I am to know if I don't come back--unless you write to me.” He hesitated at this and, thanks to his hesitation, received a keen stroke below his armour. “If it is the writing,” she said, with quiet, bitter scorn, “you know I have letters enough now.” Yes, she had, and he knew it: there had been blue moments in his life when he would have given a great deal to get those letters back--letters relating to money matters, most of them; explanations why certain sums were still unpaid, perhaps; letters sent back into another life, a life which had gone under Mr. Bigelow's feet as he mounted to higher things. And she added: “You needn't sign your name, if you'd rather not.” Yes, it was time to close this interview. He was not enjoying it at all--was even willing to concede a point in order to be rid of her. So he said shortly: “Very well, I will see him at noon and let you know by the morning delivery if he has a place for you.” She turned to go but he detained her. “Here--wait! I will tell him that you are a cousin of mine. Do you understand?” She made no reply to this, but simply went out as swiftly and silently as possible. She was evidently as glad as he to be through with it. And Mr. Bigelow, after glancing at the Pine Lands correspondence and after a look at his watch, put on his hat and coat and left the office. It was not yet his lunch time, but when bent upon a benevolent errand Mr. Bigelow would hear of no delay; and recalling that Mr. Murray was usually on the point of leaving the club when he entered, he was willing even to hasten his lunch in order to make sure of a chat with him.