of her adventure.

"This is the way." Mrs. Bates led her through a narrow side-door, and
Jane found herself in a small room where another young woman sat before a
trim bird's-eye-maple desk, whose drawers and pigeonholes were stuffed
with cards and letters and papers. "This is my office. Miss Marshall,
Miss Peters," she said, in the tone of introduction.

The other girl rose. She was tall and slender, like Jane. She had a pasty
complexion and weak, reddish eyes. Her expression was somewhat plaintive
and distressed--irritating, too, in the long run.

"Step along," called Mrs. Bates. She traversed the "office," passed into
a room beyond, pushed Jane ahead of her, and shut the door. "I don't care
if it _does_ hurt her feelings." Mrs. Bates's reference appeared to be to
Miss Peters.

The door closed with a light click, and Jane looked about her with a
great and sudden surprise. Poor stupid, stumbling child!--she understood
at last in what spirit she had been received and on what footing she had
been placed.

She found herself in a small, cramped, low-ceiled room which was filled
with worn and antiquated furniture. There was a ponderous old mahogany
bureau, with the veneering cracked and peeled, and a bed to correspond.
There was a shabby little writing-desk, whose let-down lid was lined with
faded and blotted green baize. On the floor there was an old Brussels
carpet, antique as to pattern, and wholly threadbare as to surface.
The walls were covered with an old-time paper whose plaintive
primitiveness ran in slender pink stripes alternating with narrow green