looking people, quiet, and well dressed. Mr. Wahlbaum also
was very quiet, very considerate, very attentive, and almost gravely
courteous. Their conversation concerned business. He offered Athalie
no cocktail and no wine, but a jug of chilled cider was set at her
elbow and she found it delicious. Mr. Wahlbaum drank tea, very weak.

When they returned to the office, Athalie began to transcribe her
stenographic notes. It occupied most of the afternoon although she was
wonderfully rapid and accurate and her slim white fingers hovered
mistily over the keys like the vibrating wings of a snowy moth.

[Illustration: "Mr. Wahlbaum ... was very quiet, very considerate,
very attentive."]

Mr. Wahlbaum, always smoking, watched her toward the finish in placid
silence. And for a few moments, also, after she had finished and had
turned to him with a light smile and a lighter sigh of relief.

"Miss Greensleeve," he said quietly, "I have now been here in the same
office with you, day after day--excepting our summer vacations--for
more than five years."

A trifle surprised and sobered by his gravity and deliberation she
nodded silent acquiescence and waited, wondering a little what else
was to come.

It came without preamble: "I have the honour," he said, "to ask you to
marry me."

Still as a stone she sat, gazing at him. And for a long while his keen
eyes sustained her gaze. But presently a slow, deep colour began to
gather on his face. And after a moment he said: "I am sorry that the
verdict is against me."

Tears filled her eyes; she tried to speak, could not, turned on her
pivot-chair, rested her arms on the back, and dropped her face in
them.

It was a long while before she was able to efface the traces of
emotion. She did all she could before she forced herself to look at
him again and say what she must say.

"If I could--I would, Mr. Wahlbaum," she faltered. "No man has ever
been kinder to me, none more courteous, none more gentle."

He looked at her wistfully for a moment, and she thought he was going
to speak. But he was wise in the ways of the world. He had lost. He
understood it. Speech was superfluous. He was a quaint combination of
good sportsman and philosophic economist.

He held his peace.

When she left that evening after saying good night to him she paused
at the door, irresolutely, and then came back to his desk where he was
still standing. For he had never failed to rise when she entered in
the mor