"May I come in, Mr. Edmunds?"
He came forward with old-school gallantry. It was not often his office was brightened by such a visitor.
"Why, it is Miss Hallam!" he exclaimed, in surprise, secretly wondering what had brought her to his office.
He had met her often in her father's house, and had seen her the center of many an admiring group at parties and receptions. She had always impressed him as having the air of one who had been surrounded by only the most refined influences of life. He thought her unusually charming this morning, all in black, with such a timid, almost childish expression in her big, gray eyes.
"Take this seat by the window, Miss Hallam," he said, cordially. "I hope this cigar smoke does not annoy you. I had no idea I should have the honor of entertaining a lady, or I should not have indulged."
"Didn't Mr. Marion tell you I was coming this morning?" asked Bethany, in some embarrassment.
"No, not a word. I believe he said something to Mr. Porter about a typewriter-girl that wants a place, but I am sure he never mentioned that you intended doing us the honor of calling."
Bethany smiled faintly.
"I am the typewriter-girl that wants the place," she answered.
"You!" ejaculated Mr. Edmunds, standing up in his surprise, and beginning to stutter as he always did when much excited. "You! w'y-w'y-w'y, you don't say so!" he finally managed to blurt out.