but now it seemed to her most embarrassing to go thus to meet the man who
had helped her.

She gathered her little hoard of money to take with her, and cast one
look back over the cheerless room, with a great longing to bid it farewell
forever, and go back to the world where she belonged; yet she realized
that it was a quiet refuge for her from the world that she must hereafter
face. Then she closed her door, went down the stairs and out into the
street, like any other servant on her afternoon out, walking away to meet
whatever crisis might arise. She had not dared to speculate much about the
subject of the coming interview. It was likely he wanted to inquire about
her comfort, and perhaps offer material aid. She would not accept it, of
course, but it would be a comfort to know that some one cared. She longed
inexpressibly for this interview, just because he had been kind, and
because he belonged to that world from which she had come. He would keep
her secret. He had true eyes. She did not notice soft, padded feet that
came wobbling down the street after her, and she only drew a little
further out toward the curbing when a blear-eyed, red face peered into
hers as she stood waiting for the car. She did not notice the shabby man
who boarded the car after she was seated.

Tryon Dunham stood in the great stone doorway, watching keenly the passing
throng. He saw the girl at once as she got out of the car, but he did not
notice the man in the baggy coat, who lumbered after her and watched with
wondering scrutiny as Dunham came forward, lifted his hat, and took her
hand respectfully. Here was an element he did not understand. He stood
staring, puzzled, as they disappeared into the great building; then
planted himself in a convenient place to watch until his charge should
come out again. This was perhaps a gentleman who had come to engage her to
work for him. She might be thinking of changing her place. He must be on