She read all the popular novels and thrilled at the love-scenes contained in them, but when any of the young men she knew became in the slightest degree sentimental she found herself bored, and disgusted with herself for being bored.  Still, she could not help it, and was struggling to reconcile herself to a life without romance.

She was far too pretty for that, of course, and Arthur Chamberlain often longed to tell her how pretty she really was, but her abstracted air held him at arms’ length.

He lay back at ease in his swivel-chair and considered, looking at her with unfeigned pleasure.  She did not notice it, for she was so much absorbed in her own thoughts that she rarely noticed anything he said or did when they were not in the line of her duties.

“Miss Woodward,” he repeated, “I said I think I’ll never make a successful man.  Do you know what that means?”

She looked at him mutely, polite inquiry in her eyes.

“It means,” he said gravely, “that I’m going broke.  Unless something turns up in the next three weeks, or a month at the latest, I’ll have to get a job.”

“And that means—­” she asked.

“All this will go to pot,” he explained with a sweeping gesture.  “I thought I’d better tell you as much in advance as I could.”

“You mean you’re going to give up your office—­and me?” she asked, a little alarmed.

“Giving up you will be the harder of the two,” he said with a smile, “but that’s what it means.  You’ll have no difficulty finding a new place, with three weeks in which to look for one, but I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too, Mr. Chamberlain,” she said, her brow puckered.

She was not really frightened, because she knew she could get another position, but she became aware of rather more regret than she had expected.

There was silence for a moment.

“Jove!” said Arthur, suddenly.  “It’s getting dark, isn’t it?”

It was.  It was growing dark with unusual rapidity.  Arthur went to his window, and looked out.

“Funny,” he remarked in a moment or two.  “Things don’t look just right, down there, somehow.  There are very few people about.”

He watched in growing amazement.  Lights came on in the streets below, but none of the buildings lighted up.  It grew darker and darker.

“It shouldn’t be dark at this hour!” Arthur exclaimed.

Estelle went to the window by his side.

“It looks awfully queer,” she agreed.  “It must be an eclipse or something.”

They heard doors open in the hall outside, and Arthur ran out.  The halls were beginning to fill with excited people.

“What on earth’s the matter?” asked a worried stenographer.

“Probably an eclipse,” replied Arthur.  “Only it’s odd we didn’t read about it in the papers.”

He glanced along the corridor.  No one else seemed better informed than he, and he went back into his office.