. "That girl's a
high-stepper, sir. Nine dollars a week!" he grumbled as he left the
room to the manifest relief of Mr. Blair.

"You're being gingered-up, Blair," said Sir Bridgman; "in fact, we're
all being gingered-up. It's a bit surprising at first; but it's a
great game played slow. You'll get to like it in time, and it's all
for the good of the British Empire."

Mr. Blair smiled weakly as Sir Bridgman left the room; but in his heart
he wished it were possible to have a sentinel outside his door, with
strict injunctions to bayonet John Dene without hesitation should he
seek admittance.

"I've fixed it," announced John Dene, as he burst in upon Dorothy's day
dream. "You'll get twenty dollars in future."

She looked up quickly. "You're very kind, Mr. Dene," she said, "but is
it--is it----?" she hesitated.

"It's a square deal. I told them you wouldn't take it from me, and
that I wasn't going to have my secretary paid less than an office boy
in T'ronto. I gingered 'em up some. Nine dollars a week for you!"

The tone in which the last sentence was uttered brought a slight flush
to Dorothy's cheeks.

"Now you can get on," he announced, picking up his hat. "I'm going to
find offices;" and he went out like a gust of wind.

Dorothy typed steadily on. Of one thing she had become convinced, that
the position of secretary to John Dene of Toronto was not going to
prove a rest-billet.

At a little after four Marjorie Rogers knocked at the door and,
recognising Dorothy's "Come in," entered stealthily as if expecting
someone to jump out at her.

"Where's the bear, Wessie?" she enquired, keeping a weather eye on the
door in case John Dene should return.

"Gone out to buy bear-biscuits," laughed Dorothy, leaning back in her
chair to get the kink out of her spine.

"Do you think he'll marry you?" enquired the little brunette
romantically, as she perched herself upon John Dene's table and swung a
pretty leg. "They don't usually, you know."

"He'll probably kill you if he catches you," said Dorothy.

"Oh, if he comes I'm here to ask if you would like some tea," was the
airy reply.

"You angel!" cried Dorothy. "I should love it."

"Has he tried to kiss you yet?" demanded the girl, looking at Dorothy
searchingly.

"Don't be ridiculous," cried Dorothy, conscious that she was flushing.

"I see he has," she said, regarding Dorothy judicially and nodding her
head wisely.

Dorothy re-started typing. It