Oh, well--I'll find that out to-morrow. Good-by."

Fanny went back to her desk and papers. The room seemed all
at once impossibly stuffy, her papers and letters dry,
meaningless things. In the next office, separated from her
by a partition half glass, half wood, she saw the top of
Slosson's bald head as he stood up to shut his old-fashioned
roll-top desk. He was leaving. She looked out of the
window. Ella Monahan, in hat and suit, passed and came back
to poke her head in the door.

"Run along!" she said. "It's Saturday afternoon. You'll
work overtime enough when the Christmas rush begins. Come
on, child, and call it a day!"

And Fanny gathered papers, figures, catalogue proofs into a
glorious heap, thrust them into a drawer, locked the drawer,
pushed back her chair, and came.



CHAPTER ELEVEN

Fanny told herself, before she went to bed Saturday night,
that she hoped it would rain Sunday morning from seven to
twelve. But when Princess woke her at seven-thirty, as per
instructions left in penciled scrawl on the kitchen table,
she turned to the window at once, and was glad, somehow, to
find it sun-flooded. Princess, if you're mystified, was
royal in name only--a biscuit-tinted lady, with a very black