“So you are toiling away in a place like this for a mere pittance,” he went on; “probably hardly enough to keep soul and body together.  That’s a confounded shame for a pretty girl like you.  Work isn’t for such as you—­you ought to be out in the sunshine, dressed in silks and velvets and diamonds galore.  It’s bad enough for the old and ugly—­those whose hair is streaked with gray and around whose eyes the crow’s feet have been planted by the hand of time, to work—­ay, toil for their bread.  By Jove, I say you are far too lovely for such a fate!”

“Sir!” cried Margery, drawing herself up to her fullest height.  “I work for my living, but I want you to understand that I am proud of the fact, instead of deeming it a disgrace, as you seem to think it.

“Up to this hour I have always considered you a man of honor—­one of nature’s noblemen—­a gentleman.  Now I know you as you are—­a roue—­ay, a scoundrel.  I would scorn to remain another hour in your employ.  Money earned in this establishment from this moment would burn my fingers.”

“Hoity-toity!  Don’t get big feelings too suddenly, my pretty dear,” he cried, with a load, hilarious laugh.  “Lord! what simpletons some girls are!  You’re standing in your own light, pretty one!  Can’t you see that?”

“Sir!” cried Margery, struggling to free herself from the grasp of his strong hand, “it is dastardly, it is cowardly to summon me here to subject me to—­insult.”

“’Pon my honor, I want to be friendly, but you won’t have it so—­you seem determined to kick up a row.  Come, now, be friendly; sit down here and we’ll talk it over.”

“Unhand me!” cried Margery in terror.  “Let me go, or I shall scream for help!”

“You won’t do any such thing, my little ruffled birdling,” he cut in, an angry light leaping up into his eyes, adding:  “I am disposed to treat you very kindly, but you seem determined to make an enemy of me instead of a friend, my dear, and your reason ought to tell you how foolish that is.  Come, be sensible and listen to me.  I’ve taken a violent fancy to that pretty face of yours.  We must be friends—­excellent friends.  That’s a good beginning, you know.”

Margery glanced toward the door, the fright deepening in her eyes.  He had placed himself between her and the door, kicking it to with his foot.

He saw that quick glance, and read it aright, and his brow darkened.

“Don’t be a little fool!” he cried.  “Don’t anger me, girl.  You had better make a friend instead of an enemy of me.”

“Your enmity or friendship is a matter of equal indifference to me now,” gasped Margery, sobbing bitterly.

“You have slain my respect for you.  I—­I am sorry—­sorry from the bottom of my heart—­that I realize you have fallen from such a noble height in my estimation.”