She turned toward the fleeing landscape and, in the window, caught the reflection of her own lovely face. Miss Betty Thompson, if you please, a poor dependent, a drudging secretary! It was sickening, maddening; she could not bear it. And then, through the torture of her thoughts, came tripping brightly a whimsical fancy that brought back the laughter to her eyes. And the laughing eyes in the window seemed to say: "How could he possibly remember you?"
"Guardy," she asked softly, "would you do something for me?"
"Sure I would," said Hiram.
"Even if it seems silly—just to make me happy?"
Baxter nodded his big head slowly. "Try me, little girl."
"You said it would shame the relatives—what I am going to do?"
"It will—you bet it will—when they know."
"But I don't want them to know. That's the point. It isn't any snobbish reason. I'm not ashamed of working, but——" She threw all her feminine power into one swift, bewitching appeal. "Guardy, I don't want them to know that I am Betty Thompson. I don't want anyone to know it except you and Mrs. Baxter. Please let me have my way. Let me just be your new secretary, Miss—er—I'll take some other name."
"No, no, I won't stand fer any fake name. Take yer own name. I'll introduce ye as Miss Thompson, my new secretary. They'll never suspect that yer Betty Thompson."
"But some of the relatives will be sure to know you," objected Eleanor.