Once her decision was taken all the kindly efforts of her mentors at Marypoint were rallied in her support.  They had advised out of their wisdom, but acted from their hearts.  And the day on which the principal of the college notified her that the Skandinavia Corporation of Quebec had signified its willingness to absorb her into its service as typist and stenographer, at one hundred dollars per month, was the happiest she had known since her well-loved mother had been taken out of her life.

Now, after three years of unwearying effort, there was still no shadow to mar her happiness, or temper her enthusiasm.  On the contrary, there was much to stimulate both.  In that brief period she had succeeded almost beyond her dreams.  Was she not already the trusted, confidential secretary to the ruling power in the great offices of the Skandinavia Corporation?  Had she not been taken out of the ranks of the many capable stenographers, and been given a private office, a doubled salary, and work to do which left her wide scope for the play of those gifts with which she was so liberally endowed?  Yes.  All these things had been showered upon her in three years.  She was a figure of authority in the great establishment.  And furthermore, the man she served—­this man, Elas Peterman—­had hinted, and even definitely talked of, further rapid promotion.

She had worked hard for it all.  Oh, yes.  She had worked morning, noon, and night.  When other girls had been content to study fashions and styles, and chatter “beaus” and husbands, she had given herself up to the study of the wood-pulp trade, and the world’s market of the material she was interested in.  She had saturated herself with the whole scheme, and purpose, and methods of her employers, till, as Peterman himself had once told her in admiration at her grasp of the business, she knew as much of the trade as he did himself.  And even after that her mirror, that oracle of a woman’s life, failed to yield her the real truth it is always ready to tell to its devotees.

The pre-occupation suddenly passed out of the girl’s eyes.  She stirred.  Then she stood up and collected a number of papers into a small leather attache case.  A moment later she pressed the bell push on the desk.

Her summons was promptly answered by a slim figured girl, with fair hair, and “jumpered” in the latest style.

“I shall be away a while.  See to the ’phone, Miss Webster,” Nancy said, in a tone of quiet but definite authority.  “I shall be with Mr. Peterman.  Don’t ring me unless it’s something important.  That summary.  Is it ready?”

“It’s being checked right now.”

“Well, speed them up.  You can send it up directly it’s through.  Mr. Peterman is needing it.”

Nancy passed out of the room.  Her discipline was strict.  Sometimes it approached severity.  But she understood its necessity for obtaining results.  Her orders would be carried out.