When he measured her it was to discover that she was not so little, and the shoulder-curve of her uplifted arms, as her fingers played over the keys, seemed to belie that apparent slimness.  And had he not been unacquainted with the subtleties of the French mind and language, he might have classed her as a fausse maigre.  Her head was small, her hair like a dark, blurred shadow clinging round it.  He wanted to examine her hair, to see whether it would not betray, at closer range, an imperceptible wave,—­but not daring to linger he went into his office, closed the door, and sat down with a sensation akin to weakness, somewhat appalled by his discovery, considerably amazed at his previous stupidity.  He had thought of Janet—­when she had entered his mind at all—­as unobtrusive, demure; now he recognized this demureness as repression.  Her qualities needed illumination, and he, Claude Ditmar, had seen them struck with fire.  He wondered whether any other man had been as fortunate.

Later in the morning, quite casually, he made inquiries of Miss Ottway, who liked Janet and was willing to do her a good turn.

“Why, she’s a clever girl, Mr. Ditmar, a good stenographer, and conscientious in her work.  She’s very quick, too.

“Yes, I’ve noticed that,” Ditmar replied, who was quite willing to have it thought that his inquiry was concerned with Janet’s aptitude for business.

“She keeps to herself and minds her own affairs.  You can see she comes of good stock.”  Miss Ottway herself was proud of her New England blood.  “Her father, you know, is the gatekeeper down there.  He’s been unfortunate.”

“You don’t say—­I didn’t connect her with him.  Fine looking old man.  A friend of mine who recommended him told me he’d seen better days ....”

CHAPTER II

In spite of the surprising discovery in his office of a young woman of such a disquieting, galvanic quality, it must not be supposed that Mr. Claude Ditmar intended to infringe upon a fixed principle.  He had principles.  For him, as for the patriarchs and householders of Israel, the seventh commandment was only relative, yet hitherto he had held rigidly to that relativity, laying down the sound doctrine that women and business would not mix:  or, as he put it to his intimates, no sensible man would fool with a girl in his office.  Hence it may be implied that Mr. Ditmar’s experiences with the opposite sex had been on a property basis.  He was one of those busy and successful persons who had never appreciated or acquired the art of quasi-platonic amenities, whose idea of a good time was limited to discreet excursions with cronies, likewise busy and successful persons who, by reason of having married early and unwisely, are strangers to the delights of that higher social intercourse chronicled in novels and the public prints.  If one may conveniently overlook the joys of a companionship of the soul, it