itself somehow from the dulness of her days, and give her the key
that should open--and shut--the doors of Hunter, Baxter & Hunter's
offices to her forever.

And, while they waited, working over the unvaried, stupid columns of
the company's books, they talked, confided, became friends, and
exchanged shy hints of ambition. The ill-ventilated, neglected room
was a little world, and rarely, in a larger world, do women come to
know each other as intimately as these women did.

Therefore, on a certain sober September morning, the fact that Miss
Thornton, familiarly known as "Thorny," was out of temper, speedily
became known to all the little force. Miss Thornton was not only the
oldest clerk there, but she was the highest paid, and the longest in
the company's employ; also she was by nature a leader, and generally
managed to impress her associates with her own mood, whatever it
might be. Various uneasy looks were sent to-day in her direction,
and by eleven o'clock even the giggling Kirk sisters, who were
newcomers, were imbued with a sense of something wrong.

Nobody quite liked to allude to the subject, or ask a direct
question. Not that any one of them was particularly considerate or
reserved by nature, but because Miss Thornton was known to be
extremely unpleasant when she had any grievance against one of the
younger clerks. She could maintain an ugly silence until goaded into
speech, but, once launched, few of her juniors escaped humiliation.
Ordinarily, however, Miss Thornton was an extremely agreeable woman,
shrewd, kindly, sympathetic, and very droll in her passing comments
on men and events. She was in her early thirties, handsome, and a
not quite natural blonde, her mouth sophisticated, her eyes set in