“Very truly yours.”
He turned an inquiring glance toward Sarah.
“That's what I usually give, isn't it?”
The secretary nodded energetically.
“Yes,” she agreed in her brisk manner, “that's what you have given every year for the last ten years.”
The statement impressed Gilder pleasantly. His voice was more mellow as he made comment. His heavy face was radiant, and he smiled complacently.
“Ten thousand dollars to this one charity alone!” he exclaimed. “Well, it is pleasant to be able to help those less fortunate than ourselves.” He paused, evidently expectant of laudatory corroboration from the secretary.
But Sarah, though she could be tactful enough on occasion, did not choose to meet her employer's anticipations just now. For that matter, her intimate services permitted on her part some degree of familiarity with the august head of the establishment. Besides, she did not stand in awe of Gilder, as did the others in his service. No man is a hero to his valet, or to his secretary. Intimate association is hostile to hero-worship. So, now, Sarah spoke nonchalantly, to the indignation of the philanthropist:
“Oh, yes, sir. Specially when you make so much that you don't miss it.”
Gilder's thick gray brows drew down in a frown of displeasure, while his eyes opened slightly in sheer surprise over the secretary's unexpected remark. He hesitated for only an instant before replying with an air of great dignity, in which was a distinct note of rebuke for the girl's presumption.