Little it mattered to Betty whether her room was large or small and whether its furnishings were sumptuous or simple. She had more important things to think of, poor child, and a problem to face that required all her fortitude. Here were the hopes and dreams of her life rudely shattered and her whole outlook changed in a moment. Instead of being rich, as she had always thought herself, with a fortune that meant freedom, pleasure, everything, it now appeared that she was a poor girl with a burden of debt and must work for her living. She who had never learned to work and who hated drudgery, who had often asked herself how shop girls and office girls could possibly endure their dull existence, now she must work for her living! No wonder Miss Betty Thompson tossed sleepless and wretched and tearful through most of this first night at Ipping House, after a forlorn dinner sent to her room, under plea of headache, and then scarcely touched.
It was late the next morning when Mrs. Baxter knocked at Betty's door and entered with brisk salutations. Was the headache better? Yes, thanks, it was. And would the new secretary have breakfast in bed? The new secretary laughed and admitted that, for this once, she would very much enjoy some coffee and toast in bed, nothing else, please; and she assured Mrs. Baxter that never again would she be so neglectful of her duties. What must Mr. Baxter think of her?
"Mr. Baxter went into town on the early train," answered Eleanor reassuringly, "so don't disturb yourself. I think he left some papers for you with Bob."
"Oh!" said Betty, and she recalled, with a thrill of pleasure, the tall, clean-cut, young American who had met them at the station. Nice eyes had little Bobby, who was now big Bobby! Very nice eyes! And rather good shoulders! Extremely good shoulders! Must have been an athlete at college—rowed on the crew and that sort of thing. She would ask him. Stop, she would do nothing of the sort! She mustn't ask personal questions or think of him as Bobby. He was Mr. Robert Baxter, a very serious person with papers for her to copy, and she was—she was the new secretary!
Strange to say, this thought that in the night had brought such gloom came now to Betty as a matter of amused contemplation. Mr. Robert Baxter! Ahem! And more than once, while she carefully dressed, the American girl flashed mischievous and approving smiles into the glass out of her deep, blue eyes and, when, shortly after ten, she descended to the library by her little winding stairs, she was as fresh and lovely a vision of a fair young woman as one would wish to see, quite in spirit with the pleasant sunshine flooding the park and the blackbirds rejoicing in the beeches. Miss Thompson's buoyant youth and sense of humor had come to the rescue.
A glance showed her that the library was empty and she spent some moments enjoying the dignity of this long, spacious room that was to be the scene of her labors. Those old carved oak panels of the napkin pattern, how she loved them! And the Elizabethan ceiling and the tall, deep windows opening on the conservatory! Surely the very last place where one would expect to find the desk of a hustling American man of business. Yet there it was, waiting for Betty to begin, not a roll-top desk, thank heaven, but an antique piece of curious design and richly inlaid standing near one of the great windows and now heaped with a pile of mail for Hiram Baxter that had accumulated since his sailing from New York.
At a little distance from this desk was a long, narrow table, also carved, but of a later period, with a standard telephone at one end and a typewriter at the other, while between these were rows of neatly arranged papers, pamphlets, and reports. On top of the typewriter lay a large sheet of paper, on which the new secretary read a blue-penciled message to herself:
"Dear Miss Thompson," began the message. "Father has gone to town. You will find some correspondence on the other desk that he wants you to look over. Please make a little abstract of who wrote the letters and what they are about. I'll be in shortly and explain. Yours truly, R. BAXTER."
It was with mingled emotions that Betty read this note. "Dear Miss Thompson!" There it was in black and white! And, having seen it, she did not particularly like it. Nor the cool way in which Bobby Baxter gave her orders! He would be back shortly to explain. Indeed! R. Baxter would be back shortly. Very well! When R. Baxter came back she would show R. Baxter that she could be just as stiff and business-like as he was.
Seating herself at the desk, Betty began with the letters, looking up from time to time to enjoy the changing greens of the conservatory that shimmered in through the leaded window panes. And presently she smiled at her foolish annoyance. Why shouldn't Bob be stiff and business-like? It was all her doing and it was too late now to draw back and——. Here was a task that she had given herself, a sort of penance that would show how deeply she realized her great obligation to Hiram Baxter. She had set out to be the new secretary, and, in spite of R. Baxter, with his eyes and his shoulders, in spite of annoyances or humiliations, she would be the new secretary.