“And if I let him do this wrong act I would be as guilty as he,” she added.
“That’s true, Ris. You’ll lose your job, sure enough, but there will be another somewhere just as good.”
So, when Mr. Burthon’s secretary went to the office next morning she was keyed up to do the most heroic deed that had ever come to her hand. Whatever the consequences might be, the girl was determined to waylay Mr. Cumberford when he arrived and tell him the truth about the Queen of Hearts.
But he did not come to the office at nine o’clock. Neither had Mr. Burthon arrived at that time. Orissa, her heart beating with trepidation but strong in resolve, watched the clock nearing the hour, passing it, and steadily ticking on in the silence of the office. The outer room was busy this morning, and in the broker’s absence his secretary was called upon to perform many minor tasks; but her mind was more upon the clock than upon her work.
Ten o’clock came. Eleven. At half past eleven the door swung open and Mr. Burthon ushered in a strange gentleman whom Orissa at once decided was Mr. Cumberford. He was extremely tall and thin and stooped somewhat as he walked. He had a long, grizzled mustache, wore gold-rimmed eyeglasses and carried a gold-headed cane. From his patent leather shoes to his chamois gloves he was as neat and sleek as if about to attend a reception.
Observing the presence of a young lady the stranger at once removed his hat, showing his head to be perfectly bald.
“Sit down, Cumberford,” said Mr. Burthon, carelessly.
As he obeyed, Orissa, her face flaming red, advanced to a position before him and exclaimed in a pleading voice:
“Oh, sir, do not buy Mr. Burthon’s mine, I beg of you!”
The man stared at her with faded gray eyes which were enlarged by the lenses of his spectacles. Mr. Burthon smiled, seemed interested, and watched the scene with evident amusement.