"Don't look so shocked, dearie. I shan't do anything or say anything to imperil my—my job." (Betty's eyes twinkled even more merrily over the last word.) "It's just that I don't think any living man has a right to make everybody so afraid of him as Mr. Denby very plainly has done. And I only mean that if the occasion ever came up, I should let him know that I am not afraid of him."
"Oh, Betty, Betty, be careful, be careful. I beg of you, be careful!"
"Oh, I will. Don't worry," laughed the girl. "But, listen, don't you want me to go on with my story?"
"Yes—oh, yes!"
"Well, where was I? Oh, I know—just inside the library door. Very good, then. Ruthlessly suppressing my almost overwhelming longing to pounce on one of those alluring cabinets, I advanced properly and held out my note to Mr. Denby. As I came near I fancied that he, too, gave a slight start as he looked sharply into my face; and I thought I caught a real gleam of life in his eyes. The next instant it was gone, however (if indeed it had ever been there!), and he had taken my note and waved me politely to a chair."
"Yes, go on, go on!"
"Yes; well, do you know?—that's exactly what I felt like saying to him," laughed Betty softly. "He just glanced at the note with a low ejaculation; then he sat there staring at nothing for so long that I began to think I should scream from sheer nervousness. Then, perhaps I stirred a little. At all events, he turned with a start, and then is when I saw, for just a minute, how kind his eyes could be.
"'There, there, my child, I beg your pardon,' he cried. 'I quite forgot you were here. Something—your eyes, I think—set me to dreaming. Now to business! Perhaps you'll be good enough to take some letters for me. You'll find pencils, pen, and paper there at your right.' And I did. And I began. And that's all."
"All! But surely there was more!"
"Not much. I took dictation in long hand for perhaps a dozen letters—most of them short ones. He said he was behind on his personal correspondence. Then he went away and left me. He goes down to his office at the Denby Iron Works every forenoon, I understand. Anyway, there I was, left in that fascinating room with all those cabinets full of treasures that I so longed to explore, but tied to a lot of scrawly notes and a typewriter. I forgot to say there was one of those disappearing typewriters in a desk over by the window. It wasn't quite like Gladys's, but the keyboard was, and I very soon got the run of it.