At the noon hour Mr. Clarke departed, and she stood by the window eating
her lunch and watching the men at work on the new wing. The old finishing
room was a thing of the past, and Dan's dream of a light, well-ventilated
workroom for the girls was already taking definite form. She could see
him now in the yard below, a blue-print in his hand, explaining to a
group of workmen some detail of the new building. One old glass-blower,
peering at the plan through heavy, steel-rimmed spectacles, had his arm
across Dan's shoulder. Nance smiled tenderly. Dear Dan! Everybody liked
him--even those older men from the furnace-room who had seen him promoted
over their heads. She leaned forward impulsively and called to him.

"Danny!" she cried, "here's an apple. Catch!"

He caught it dexterously in his left hand, gave her a casual nod, then
went gravely on with the business in hand. Nance sighed and turned away
from the window.

In the afternoon the work went much easier. She was getting used to Mr.
Clarke's quick, nervous speech and abrupt manner. She was beginning to
think in sentences instead of words. All was going famously when a quick
step sounded in the passage without, followed by a gaily whistled tune,
and the next instant the door behind her was flung open.

Mr. Clarke went steadily on with his dictation, but the new stenographer
ceased to follow. With bent head and lips caught between her teeth, she
made futile efforts to catch up, but she only succeeded in making
matters worse.

"That will do for this afternoon," said Mr. Clarke, seeing her confusion.
"Make a clear copy of that last letter and put it on my desk." Then he