waters
was transfigured by the heavy golden wash of the autumn sun. She had
made at length the discovery that Adventure had 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 vi