it. People often said that her desire to please, and her methods
of pleasing, were unconscious. These people were wrong. She was
perfectly conscious and even deliberate in her actions. She liked to
please. She could please easily and she could please keenly. Therefore
she strove always to please. Sometimes, when she looked in the mirror,
and saw that charming, good-natured face with its rich vermilion lips
eager to part in a nice, warm, sympathetic smile, she could accuse
herself of being too fond of the art of pleasing. For she was a
conscientious girl, and her age being twenty-five her soul was at its
prime, full, bursting with beautiful impulses towards perfection. Yes,
she would accuse herself of being too happy, too content, and would
wonder whether she ought not to seek heaven by some austerity of
scowling. Janet had everything: a kind disposition, some brains, some
beauty, considerable elegance and luxury for her station, fine shoulders
at a ball, universal love and esteem.

Stifford, as he gazed diffidently at this fashionable, superior, and yet
exquisitely beseeching woman on the other side of the counter, was in a
very unpleasant quandary. She had by her magic transformed him into a
private individual, and he acutely wanted to earn that smile which she
was giving him. But he could not. He was under the obligation to say
`No' to her innocent and delightful request; and yet could he say `No'?
Could he bring himself to desolate her by a refusal? (She had produced
in him the illusion that a refusal would indeed desolate her, though she
would of course bear it with sweet fortitude.) Business was a barbaric
thing at times.

"The fact is, miss," he said at length, in his best manner, "Mr
Clayhanger has decided to give up the new book business. I'm very
sorry."

Had it been another than Janet he would have assuredly said with pride:
"We have decided--"

"Really!" said Janet. "I see!"

Then Stifford directed his eyes upon a square glazed structure of
ebonised wood that had been insinuated and inserted into the opposite
corner of the shop, behind the ledger-window. And Janet's eyes followed
his.

"I don't know if--" he hesitated.

"Is Mr Clayhanger in?" she demanded, as if wishful to help him in the
formulation of his idea, and she added: "Or Mr Edwin?" Deliciously
persuasive!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TWO.

The wooden structure was a lair