"Read it," Grace said, in a thin brittle voice.
In taking the letter, Gregory touched her hand. With recaptured alertness, he held the missive to the light, and read:
"MY DEAR MISS NOIR:— "This is to officially offer you the position of bookkeeper at my grocery store, now that Hamilton Gregory has decided to make Fran his secretary. Come over early in the morning and everything will be arranged to your satisfaction. I am, ROBERT CLINTON."
Gregory looked up, and marked the fixedness of her gaze. It seemed to call upon him to avenge an insult. He could only bluster, "Who brought this thing here?" He flung the note upon the table.
"A messenger." Grace's look did not waver.
"The impudence!" he exclaimed. "The affront!"
"However," said Grace, "I presume it is final that I am dismissed?"
"But his unseemly haste in sending this note—it's infamous, that's what I call it, infamous!"
"And you mean to take Fran in my place, do you not?"
"You see," Gregory explained, "Bob Clinton came back to town this evening from Springfield, you understand, and Abbott came with him— er—and Mrs. Gregory was in the room so they could not speak exactly openly, and Abbott made the condition—I can hardly explain so delicate an affair of—of business—but you see, Bob is evidently very much in love with you, and he has it in his power to demand—"