“Exactly what the letter says. I want you for my partner. I want to marry you, and d—n financial considerations——”
“Oh!” cried Miss Gale, in a long-drawn, quivering sigh. She was doubtless shocked at the word he had used, and fled to her typewriting room, closing the door behind her.
Richard Denham paced up and down the floor for a few moments, then rapped lightly at her door, but there was no response. He put on his hat and went out into the street. After a long and aimless walk, he found himself again at his place of business. When he went in, Rogers said to him:
“Miss Gale has left, sir.”
“Has she?”
“Yes, and she has given notice. Says she is not coming back, sir.”
“Very well.”
He went into his own room and found a letter marked “personal” on his desk. He tore it open, and read in neatly type-written characters:
“I have resigned my place as typewriter girl, having been offered a better situation. I am offered a partnership in the house of Richard Denham. I have decided to accept the position, not so much on account of its financial attractions, as because I shall be glad, on a friendly basis, to be associated with the gentleman I have named. Why did you put me to all that worry writing that idiotic letter, when a few words would have saved ever so much bother? You evidently need a partner. My mother will be pleased to meet you any time you call. You have the address,—Your friend,
“MARGARET GALE.”