ad to do with Man, was
inconceivable without him.

Racked by these conflicting impulses of self-preservation on the one hand
and what seemed self-realization on the other, she started when, toward
the middle of the afternoon, she heard Ditmar's voice summoning her to
take his letters; and went palpitating, leaving the door open behind her,
seating herself on the far side of the desk, her head bent over her book.
Her neck, where her hair grew in wisps behind her ear, seemed to burn:
Ditmar's glance was focussed there. Her hands were cold as she wrote....
Then, like a deliverer, she saw young Caldwell coming in from the outer
office, holding a card in his hand which he gave to Ditmar, who sat
staring at it.

"Siddons?" he said. "Who's Siddons?"

Janet, who had risen, spoke up.

"Why, he's been making the Hampton `survey.' You wrote him you'd see
him--don't you remember, Mr. Ditmar?"

"Don't go!" exclaimed Ditmar. "You can't tell what those confounded
reformers will accuse you of if you don't have a witness."

Janet sat down again. The sharpness of Ditmar's tone was an exhilarating
reminder of the fact that, in dealing with strangers, he had come more or
less to rely on her instinctive judgment; while the implied appeal of his
manner on such occasions emphasized the pleasurable sense of his
dependence, of her own usefulness. Besides, she had been curious about
the `survey' at the time it was first mentioned, she wished to hear
Ditmar's views concerning it. Mr. Siddons proved to be a small and sallow
young man with a pointed nose and bright, bulbous brown eyes like a
chipmunk's. Indeed, he reminded one of a chipmunk. As he whisked himself
in and seized Ditmar's hand he gave a confused impression of polite
self-effacement as well as of dignity and self-assertion; he had the air
of one who expects opposition, and though by no means desiring it, is
prepared to deal with it. Janet smiled. She had a sudden impulse to drop
the heavy book that lay on the corner of the desk to see if he would
jump.

"How do you do, Mr. Ditmar?" he said. "I've been hoping to have this
pleasure."

"My secretary, Miss Bumpus," said Ditmar.

Mr. Siddons quivered and bowed. Ditmar, sinking ponderously into his
chair, seemed suddenly, ironically amused, grinning at Janet as he opened
a drawer of his desk and offered the visitor a cigar.

"Thanks, I don't smoke," said Mr. Siddons.

Ditmar lit one for himself.

"Now, what can I do for you?"