er
business. But whereas Karkeek was privately ashamed, Dayson was proud of
his role, which gave him the illusion of power and glory.

"Just take this down, will you?" said Mr. Cannon.

Hilda grasped at her notebook and seized a pencil, and then held herself
tense to receive the message, staring downwards at the blank page.
Dayson lolled in his chair, throwing his head back. He knew that the
presence of himself, the great shorthand expert, made Hilda nervous when
she had to write from dictation; and this flattered his simple vanity.
Hilda hated and condemned her nervousness, but she could not conquer it.

Mr. Cannon, standing over the table, pushed his hat away from his broad,
shining forehead, and then, meditative, absently lifted higher his
carefully tended hand and lowered the singing gas-jet, only to raise it
again.

"Mr. Ezra Brunt. Dear Sir, Re advertisement. With reference to your
letter replying to ours in which you inquire as to the circulation of
the above newspaper, we beg to state that it is our intention to print
four thousand of--"

"Two thousand," Hilda interrupted confidently.

Unruffled, Mr. Cannon went on politely: "No--four thousand of the first
number. Our representative would be pleased to call upon you by
appointment. Respectfully yours.--You might sign that, Dayson, and get
it off to-night. Is Sowter here?"

For answer, Dayson jerked his head towards an inner door. Sowter was the
old clerk who had first received Hilda into the offices of Mr. Q.
Karkeek. He was earning a little extra money by clerical work at nights
in connection with the advertisement department of the new organ.

Mr. Cannon marched to the inner door and opened it. Then he turned and
called:

"Dayson--a moment."

"Certainly," said Dayson, jumping up. He planted his hat doggishly at
the back of his head, stuck his hands into his pockets, and swaggered
after his employer.

The inner door closed on the three men. Hilda, staring at the notebook,
blushing and nibbling at the pencil, was left alone under the gas. She
could feel her heart beating violently.

CHAPTER VIII
JANET ORGREAVE

I

"Our friend is waiting for that letter to Brunt," said Arthur Dayson,
emerging from the inner room, a little later.

"In one moment," Hilda replied coldly, though she had not begun to write
the letter.

Dayson disappeared, nodding.

She resented his referring to Mr. Cannon as 'our friend,' but she did
not know why, unle