"I will not permit it," she said sternly; and she laid her open hand upon the desk, to give weightier emphasis to the words. "We must have no condoning of that sort of thing. If I catch him at it—if I catch anyone, out he goes neck and crop."
In the course of a few days Mr. Mears reported, still grudgingly, that young Marsden's demeanour towards the young ladies was absolutely perfect. Stoical indifference, calm disregard, not even a trace of that flirting or innocently philandering tone which is so common, and to which one can scarcely object.
"Good," said Mrs. Thompson. "I'm glad to hear it—because now I shan't be afraid of advancing him."
"But," said Mears, "you have advanced him. You aren't thinking of putting him up again?"
"I am not sure. Something must be done about Miss Woolfrey. I will think about it."
It was not long before Mears, young Marsden and Miss Woolfrey were all summoned together behind the glass. The typewriting girl had been sent out of the room; Mrs. Thompson sat in front of her bureau, looking like a great general; Mr. Mears, at her side, looked like a glum aide-de-camp; the young man looked like a soldier who had been beckoned to step forward from the ranks. He stood at a respectful distance, and his bearing was quite soldierlike—heels together, head well up, the broad shoulders very square, and the muscular back straight and flat. His eyes were on the general's face.
Sandy, freckled Miss Woolfrey merely looked foolish and frightened. She caught her breath and coughed when Mrs. Thompson informed her that Mr. Marsden was to be put in charge of the whole department.
"Over my head, ma'am?"
"It will make no difference to you. Your salary will be no less. And yours, Mr. Marsden, will be no more. But you will have fuller scope."