Mrs. Tarbell’s desk was in the middle of the back room,—­she could just see the outer door obliquely through that of her partition,—­and Mr. Juddson’s was in a similar position in the front room.  This was not a very good arrangement.  Mrs. Tarbell could not very well be put in the front room with the office-boy, and yet the proximity of the office-boy was not agreeable to Mr. Juddson either.  Then, too, most of the books were in the back room, and so was the sofa:  altogether it looked as if Mrs. Tarbell were the senior.  Mr. Juddson was thinking seriously of having another partition built, and that would at any rate save him from being asked “if Mr. Juddson were in,” for, as every one knows, there is a vast difference between being asked “if Mr. Juddson be in,” and “is this Mr. Juddson?” But Mr. Juddson had the picture of Chief-Justice Marshall and the map of the battle-field of Gettysburg, so he was not so badly off; and Mrs. Tarbell was very comfortable.

She was just musing over her future, and saying to herself, “When I die, I know that they will call a bar-meeting, and that Mr. Pope will make a eulogy on my character,” when the door opened, and Mr. Juddson came in.  Mrs. Tarbell returned to business-life immediately.

“Did you find Mullany?” she said.

Mr. Juddson, a tall, black-whiskered man of about fifty, rubbed his hands for a moment over the fire, and then answered shortly that he had found Mullany.

“What did he say?”

“Oh,—­what I expected,” said Mr. Juddson, turning over the papers on his table.  He disliked unnecessary questions.  Mrs. Tarbell had no interest in Mullany, and the most she ought to do was to ask about him in an off-hand way in the street-car on the way home.  Mr. Juddson discovered the paper for which he was searching, and turned toward the door.

“Are you going out?” said Mrs. Tarbell.

The door was already half open.

“Reference before Murray.  Back at one,” was all Mr. Juddson deigned to say.

“Alexander!” cried Mrs. Tarbell,—­when the office-boy was in, she called her brother Mr. Juddson,—­“Alexander!”

“Well?” said Mr. Juddson.  He was late as it was.

“You will make the office very cold if you leave the door—­but never mind.  Don’t let me keep you.  I only wanted to tell you that I should like to talk to you about something some time to-d—­” The rest of the sentence was lost upon Mr. Juddson, who had already shut the door behind him, and Mrs. Tarbell felt aggrieved.

So much aggrieved, in fact, that she found it impossible to return to the law-journal.

“I suppose I need a sedative,” she said to herself.  “If I were a man, I would put my feet up on the table and light a cigar, or—­no!  I would never practise that vilest form of the vice.” (What she meant by this last phrase I cannot imagine, unless she referred to something which Mr. Juddson had been driven to do because he could not very well smoke while his sister was in the office.) “What,” continued Mrs. Tarbell, “what can there be to recommend the position?” She looked at the desk.