Presently, under some compulsion, she was making an exposition of her small plans. Mrs. Bates was made to understand how some of the old Dearborn Seminary girls were trying to start a sort of clubroom in some convenient down-town building for typewriters and saleswomen and others employed in business. There was to be a room where they could get lunch, or bring their own to eat, if they preferred; also a parlor where they could fill up their noon hour with talk or reading or music; it was the expectation to have a piano and a few books and magazines. "I remembered Lottie as one of the girls who went with us there, down on old Dearborn Place, and I thought perhaps I could interest Lottie's mother," concluded Jane. "And so you can," said Lottie's mother, promptly. "I'll have Miss Peters--but don't you find it a little warm here? Just pass me that hair-brush." Mrs. Bates had stepped to her single little window. "Isn't it a gem?" she asked. "I had it made to order; one of the old-fashioned sort, you see--two sash, with six little panes in each. No weights and cords, but simply catches at the side. It opens to just two widths; if I want anything different, I have to contrive it for myself. Sometimes I use a hair-brush and sometimes a paper-cutter." "Dear me," asked Jane, "is that sort of thing a rarity? 'Most every window in our house is like this. I prop mine with a curling-iron." "And now," said Mrs. Bates, resuming, "how much is it going to take to start things? I should think that five hundred dollars would do to get you under way." She opened the door. "Miss Peters, won't you please make out a check for five hun--" "Oh, bless your soul!" cried Jane, "we don't need but three hundred all together, and I can't have one woman--" "Three hundred, then," Mrs. Bates called into the next room. "Oh, goodness me!" cried Jane, despairingly, "I don't want one woman to give it all. I've got a whole list here. You're the first one I've seen." "Well, how much, then? Fifty?" "Fifty, yes. That's quite as much as I expected--more." "Fifty, Miss Peters; payable to Jane Marshall." She looked at Jane quizzically. "You _are_ unique, sure enough." "I want to be fair," protested Jane. The door closed on Miss Peters. Mrs. Bates dropped her voice. "Did you ever have a private secretary?" "Me?" called Jane. "I'm my own."