In this factory a large number of women and girls were employed, and Fairfax Fielding, who had come here at twelve years old, as an errand girl, at three dollars per week, was in her apprenticeship to the business now, and earning her seven dollars per week at the sewing machine. She was seventeen years old, and if she stayed until she was twenty she would earn double that sum. In this establishment were many women and girls who had been here from childhood, and the employees were mostly well known to each other, and, with few exceptions, on amiable terms. One of the exceptions in the present case was a new girl, a handsome blonde, who was an expert worker, and commanded the highest wages paid to a machine embroiderer. She had left another factory to apply at this one for work, and it was whispered among the girls that the cause was that her beau was a clerk in the warerooms below. Whether this report was true or not, it is very certain that Miss Platt lifted her large, cold blue eyes with a stare of angry surprise when the name of Waverley Osborne was mentioned, and listened intently for the answer. It was not long in coming, for Fair Fielding tossed her head petulantly, and exclaimed: “Now, girls, please don’t plague me about him. You know I hate him.” “Anyhow, he sent you flowers once, and walked home with you twice last week,” laughed Sadie Allen, who was fond of teasing Fair. “No, he only walked with me once,” corrected Fair quickly. Her eyes flashed as she continued: “I told him then I didn’t want his company, but I couldn’t get rid of him. He would go, and insisted on calling on my mother, too, but,” emphatically, “I guess--she--made--him--understand.” Miss Platt looked up quickly from the silken lilies she was embroidering on white cashmere. “What did your mother make him understand?” she asked, in a voice thick with suppressed excitement. Fair was not in the secret as to the cause of Miss Platt’s interest. The girls had decided that it would be a pity to spoil sport, and mar Mr. Osborne’s chances with Fair by telling her the truth. So they listened eagerly for her answer, and, turning her bright eyes on the speaker’s face, she replied unhesitatingly: “She told him she didn’t want him to walk home with me, call on me, nor show me any attention.” “Why? Wasn’t he good enough?” sneeringly. Fair looked at her in surprise. “I don’t know why you should talk so snappish about it, Miss Platt,” she said resentfully. “If my mother doesn’t wish me to keep company with gentlemen, it isn’t any business of yours, is it?” The greenish fire of a jealous hate leaped into the blue eyes regarding Fair so keenly, but, forcing a mirthless laugh, the embroiderer retorted: “Oh, so she don’t want you to keep company with gentlemen at all--is that it? A strange notion. Why, I should think she would be glad to have you marry and get off her hands.”