“Is this work difficult, Miss Hattie?” he asked, in a low, kind tone.
A start, a blush, which made her generally pale face almost glorious in color, showed her surprise, but her dark eyes were calm and steady as she looked up at him, and replied:
“Not difficult, but a little perplexing, Mr. W——, in consequence of the scattered condition of the pages. Those old magazines, all torn apart, were mixed up without regard to number or date, and you must excuse me if I seem to work slow. I have to read sometimes half a page before I can decide where it belongs.”
“Take your own time, Miss Hattie, and make no more haste than justice to your work demands. You have never found me a very hard task-master, I hope.”
“On the contrary, sir. I believe all in the bindery look upon you as a kind employer.”
“Thank you, Miss Hattie. I trust they will long continue to consider me so. By the way, are you sufficiently isolated here to pursue your difficult duties—or would you prefer a corner in the office?”
“I would prefer to remain here, Mr. W——. Any extra kindness to me will only cause others to feel envious, and I do not wish to make enemies.”
“Enemies! Just as if it were possible for you to make enemies. Have no fear on that score, Miss Hattie. But when I can in any way render your position more comfortable, Miss Hattie, please inform me.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, bending again to her work.
He cast one long, lingering look at that graceful form bowed forward over those old musty pages, and turned away with a half-smothered sigh.