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He was vaguely uneasy; he knew not what about. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. Then a third secretarial opening occurred and renewed her hopes again: a position as amanuensis—with which some of the lighter duties of a nurse were combined— to an infirm gentleman of means living at Twickenham, and engaged upon a great literary research to prove that the “Faery Queen” was really a treatise upon molecular chemistry written in a peculiar and picturesquely handled cipher. Caution forced her to speak calmly. "But I have one last request to make.
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