Mary experienced a pang of dismay.
"Then I'm afraid there's some mistake," she faltered. "I'm sorry."
"Wait a minute," said Bill, drawing up a chair for himself and facing her. "Don't worry, now. Let's get this straightened out. I'll explain. My aunt wants me to go into society. I want to stay out. She's got a lot of ideas about keeping up the family reputation. I'd sooner go get a new one. So she hires a social secretary for me—and take it from me, Miss Norcross, I don't need a social secretary any more than I need crutches. I don't need any kind of a secretary."
Mary's heart was sinking. This was the end of her job; it had all been too good to be true. He must have read this thought in her eyes, for he continued hastily:
"Now, don't get scared. I'm trying to figure this thing out so it'll suit all hands. You see, this has sort of taken me by surprise. I wasn't expecting you as a secretary; I was expecting a man."
"Oh," said Mary faintly.
"And I was going to get rid of him—pronto. I had it all doped out. But——" Bill grinned—"I can't get rid of you that way."
Mary suddenly stiffened. She was not accustomed to having men get rid of her; she would get rid of herself. She arose from her chair.
Bill reached forth a long arm and calmly pushed her back into it. She flushed angrily. No matter how badly she needed work she did not intend to be treated as a child. But again he was employing that disarming grin.