She went to Mr. Irving’s offices, and was admitted by a clerk, who said Mr. Irving was in his private office, and asked the visitor’s name.
“No name is necessary,” said Dorothy, in very grown-up tones. “I am expected.”
She walked past the clerk and into the inner office. Mr. Irving looked at her in perplexity as she entered.
“Miss Frances Arundel,” said Dorothy, looking a little shy, as she approached the desk. “Didn’t you get my note?”
“Oh—’m—yes,” said Mr. Irving, hastily turning over some notes and letters before him.
“I am a bit early,” went on Dorothy; “I wrote I would be here at three o’clock, but I was so anxious to secure a position, I came earlier. Can you employ me, sir?”
She looked imploringly at Mr. Irving, who, to tell the truth, had quite forgotten the note he had received an hour or so before. He had read it hastily and intended, when the writer came, to turn her over to his clerk; but Dorothy’s earnest face arrested his attention, and he paused as he was about to ring the bell for his attendant.
“You speak of Roger Arundel,” he said, glancing at the note he held in his hand. “I never knew any one by that name.”
“You didn’t, sir?” Dorothy exclaimed, looking greatly surprised. “Why, wasn’t he in your class at college?”
“No, he was not,” said Mr. Irving, decidedly. “What college did he attend?”