So that little trouble was smoothed away.  Another episode made the day more bearable for Susan.

Mr. Brauer called her into his office at ten o’clock.  Peter was at his desk, but Susan apparently did not see him.

“Will you hurry this bill, Miss Brown?” said Mr. Brauer, in his careful English.  “Al-zo, I wished to say how gratifite I am wiz your work, before zese las’ weeks,—­zis monss.  You work hardt, and well.  I wish all could do so hardt, and so well.”

“Oh, thank you!” stammered Susan, in honest shame.  Had one month’s work been so noticeable?  She made new resolves for the month to come.  “Was that all, Mr. Brauer?” she asked primly.

“All?  Yes.”

“What was your rush yesterday?” asked Peter Coleman, turning around.

“Headache,” said Susan, mildly, her hand on the door.

“Oh, rot!  I bet it didn’t ache at all!” he said, with his gay laugh.  But Susan did not laugh, and there was a pause.  Peter’s face grew red.

“Did—­did Miss Thornton get home all right?” he asked.  Susan knew he was at a loss for something to say, but answered him seriously.

“Quite, thank you.  She was a little—­at least I felt that she might be a little vexed at my leaving her, but she was very sweet about it.”

“She should have come, too!” Peter said, embarrassedly.

Susan did not answer, she eyed him gravely for a few seconds, as one waiting for further remarks, then turned and went out, sauntering to her desk with the pleasant conviction that hers were the honors of war.

The feeling of having regained her dignity was so exhilarating that Susan was careful, during the next few weeks, to preserve it.  She bowed and smiled to Peter, answered his occasional pleasantries briefly and reservedly, and attended strictly to her affairs alone.

Thus Thanksgiving became a memory less humiliating, and on Christmas Day joy came gloriously into Susan’s heart, to make it memorable among all the Christmas Days of her life.  Easy to-day to sit for a laughing hour with poor Mary Lord, to go to late service, and dream through a long sermon, with the odor of incense and spicy evergreen sweet all about her, to set tables, to dust the parlor, to be kissed by Loretta’s little doctor under the mistletoe, to sweep up tissue-paper and red ribbon and nutshells and tinsel, to hook Mary Lou’s best gown, and accompany Virginia to evening service, and to lend Georgie her best gloves.  Susan had not had many Christmas presents:  cologne and handkerchiefs and calendars and candy, from various girl friends, five dollars from the firm, a silk waist from Auntie, and a handsome umbrella from Billy, who gave each one of the cousins exactly the same thing.