"You're not offended, sir?" she asked.
"Offended? You poor little girl, it tears at my heart to see your face and know what you feel. You're doing just right; yes, just right. You shall come to me in the city, to-morrow if you wish. I know an old and homely woman who will be glad of this place."
She shrank at the energy of his sneer. "You won't be angry with him, sir?"
"Not angry?" he cried, astonished. Then he said quietly, "I shall do nothing at once. But there are other considerations as well."
"Others?" she asked fearfully. "He isn't—going wrong, Mr. Mather?"
"What makes you think that?" he demanded.
"Perhaps," she said, "I'd better tell you something, if it will help you help him. There's one man—oh, Mr. Mather, I've been so glad of the way the papers speak of you—if you would only stand for mayor of Stirling, sir! I dislike that Mr. Ellis. And it's he who's been here twice to see Mr. Wayne, and telephoned him this afternoon to come to town."
"Of course you know there's no reason he shouldn't?"
"Only I don't like him, sir. And Mr. Wayne made something of a secret of it, though he's been talking with me quite freely, lately. But I couldn't help knowing, and I hope there's nothing wrong." She took a step toward her desk. "If you've got nothing for me to do, sir, I'll go now. To-morrow at your office, Mr. Mather?"
"To-morrow." He sank so deep in thought that he scarcely heeded her good-bye, and leaving the pin on Jim's desk she slipped out of the office with her hopes, fears, thanks, trembling on her lips but yet unexpressed. She was glad to leave the little office where she had been so frightened of herself. And since Mather had been always kind, she felt sure he would be kind to Wayne.