A Business Career

IX

58 the note Wendell Truscott had received in his mail on the morning of the third daythat StellaMerwin had cometowork in his office. IX. When Truscott had looked through his correspondence he summoned the stenographer. This time he glanced at Stella and spoke a shade more pleasantly than he had hitherto addressed her. "Good morning, Miss er-ah-Jones, I"— "Smith, if you please," said Stella, mustering up a bit of courage. For strangelyenough, though shedespised and hated the man, she always felt small when she came into his presence . Shedid not knowwhether it wasthe mere sexinstinct of subordination, or simplythe effect of a virile nature radiating an atmosphere of authority. "I beg your pardon," he said, "I wish to dictate some letters , Miss Smith." The janitress who had cleaned the office the evening before had moved Stella's chair from its accustomed place, and asshe started toward it, Mr. Truscott rose and brought the chair from the other side of the room. "Thank you," said Stella, and took her seat, opened her notebook and grasped her pen. She wondered whether the fact that she had changed her gown from that of the daybefore, had calledhis attention to the 59 fact that he was dictating his letters to a woman instead of to a male stenographer inured to smoke and subject to occasional intoxication. Perhaps, she thought, he might, if she remained in the office long enough,perceivethat shewasalady,and entitled to the courtesy due to one, unless, indeed, life in an office involved a different standard of manners from that of ordinary social intercourse. If Stella had known of the perfumed note in Wendell Truscott's breast-pocket, she might have found other cause than her own influence to account for his improvement of manner. Mr. Truscott seemed slightly preoccupied this morning. He dictated his letters even more slowly than heretofore and hesitated oftener for the proper word. Once he waited so long in the middle of a sentence, that Stella almost involuntarily suggested a word. "Thank you,"he said, givingher a keen glance;"that would ordinarily be the proper expression. But this man would not understand it in the rightway." Whereat Stella felt crushed and very meekly wrote what hefinallydictated, perceivingthat it conveyedthe ideaexactly and beyond any possibility of misunderstanding. As Truscott gradually cleared his desk, he reached the pile of letters selected by Stella from the answers to the advertisement , and, while she sat waiting, looked the letters over.As one followed another rapidly into the waste-basket, Stella felt herself sinking lower and lower in his estimation. Sheheld the man, and his character, and his life, in utter detestation. In the abstract, his opinion of her would possess for her no value 6o whatever. And yet she could not prevent the involuntary reflection that, if perchance he should at some time learn her real identity, it would give additional poignancy to any feelings of regret or remorse of which he might be capable, to appreciate the superior quality of one whom he had wronged. If the whirligig of time should ever bring around the hour of her revenge,she thought it would be the sweeter and his punishment the sharper, if he could realize that for a few short days he had been subjected to the clear light of an intelligence able to read his true character in all its odious aspects. When bythis summary process he had reduced the number of the letters about one-half,he settled himself backin his chair and glanced at Stella, who grasped her pen more firmly and leaned slightly toward the table. But the expected dictation did not come, and glancing up a moment later, Stella sawthat he was looking toward her—not at her, but merely gazing into vacancy, for his eyes wore that introspective look that marks abstraction from one's immediate surroundings. Stella could not decide which was more humiliating—not to be looked at all, or to be looked at without being seen. On the whole she thought the former the less provoking. "I think 111not answer these now,"he said at length, "there's no hurry about them." He threw the letters on the table, and picked up the other pile, on which he had made notations. "I wish you'd answer these letters yourself,"he said. "You'll find the addresses in them, and I've made on each a minute...