rewd, sidelong glance flickered
amusement at Mrs. Gosnold's niece. "You come from the middle West, I
understand, and you've had rather a hard time of it in New York.
What do you do best?" "Why--I've tried to write," Sally confessed
shyly.

"Oh? Novels?"

"Not quite so ambitious; short stories to begin with and then special
articles for the newspapers--anything that promised to bring in a
little money, but nothing ever did."

"Then, I presume, you're familiar with typewriters?"

"Oh, yes."

"And can punctuate after a fashion?"

"I think so."

"You don't look it; far too womanly, unless your appearance is
deceptive, to know the true difference between a semicolon and a
hyphen. No matter; you have every qualification, it seems, including a
good manner and a pleasant smile. You're engaged--on probation; I mean
to say, for this one week we'll consider you simply my guest, but
willing to help me out with my correspondence. Then, if you like the
place and I like you as much as I hope I shall, you'll become my
personal secretary at a salary of twenty-five dollars a week and all
expenses. No--don't thank me; thank your sensible eyes."

Mrs. Gosnold laughed lightly, gave Sally's hand a final but
barely perceptible pressure, and released it.

"Now Thomas will show you your room. Mrs. Standish tells me she has
promised to outfit you; her maid will bring you more suitable things
by the time you've had your tub and some rest. Plenty of time; we
lunch at one-thirty."

The girl stammered some sort of an acknowledgment; she was never able
to recall precisely what she said, in truth, but it served. And then
she was amazedly ascending the broad staircase and following the
flunky's back down a long, wide, drafty corridor to a room at one
extreme of the building--a small room, daintily furnished and bright
with summery cretonne, its individual bath adjoining.

"I'll be sending the maid to you at once, ma'am," said Thomas, and
shut the door.

Sally wandered to a window, lifted the shade, and looked out with
bewildered eyes.

From the front of the house to the edge of the cliff the grounds were
as severely composed as an Italian formal garden; but to one side,
screened by high box hedges, a tennis-court was in the active
possession of four young people, none of them, apparently over twenty
years of age. Their calls and clear laughter rang in the quietness,
vibrant with careless joy of living.

They did not in the least su