When Mary Wayne stood in the presence of Aunt Caroline she wondered if she looked as guilty as she felt; it seemed as if "Fraud" must be blazoned in black letters across her forehead. But Aunt Caroline did not appear to discern anything suspicious. She smiled cordially and even extended a hand.
"Please sit down," she said.
Mary sat down. She knew that a social secretary ought to be at ease anywhere, and she was trying hard. Back in the reception-room, where she had encountered two odd young men, she had been surprised at her own poise; for a brief interval all thought of her deception had been driven from her mind. But now, sitting face to face with a kindly old lady who accepted her at face value, Mary was suffering from conscience. She found herself gripping the arm of her chair tensely, girding up her nerves to meet some sudden accusation.
"Miss Norcross, I believe," said Aunt Caroline.
"Ah—yes."
There! The thing was done. She had not done it very confidently, but the lie evidently passed current. When it became apparent that Aunt Caroline had no thought of thrusting a stern finger under her nose, Mary breathed again.
"The people who sent you speak very highly of you," remarked Aunt Caroline. "Did they explain to you the nature of the work that would be required?"
"You wished a secretary, I understood."
"A social secretary."