Janet obeyed, and again stood before him.  He looked up.  A suggestion of tenseness in her pose betraying an inner attitude of alertness, of defiance, conveyed to him sharply and deliciously once more the panther-like impression he had received when first, as a woman, she had come to his notice.  The renewed and heightened perception of this feral quality in her aroused a sense of danger by no means unpleasurable, though warning him that he was about to take an unprecedented step, being drawn beyond the limits of caution he had previously set for himself in divorcing business and sex.  Though he was by no means self-convinced of an intention to push the adventure, preferring to leave its possibilities open, he strove in voice and manner to be business-like; and instinct, perhaps, whispered that she might take alarm.

“Sit down, Miss Bumpus,” he said pleasantly, as he closed the drawer.

She seated herself on an office chair.

“Do you like your work here?” he inquired.

“No,” said Janet.

“Why not?” he demanded, staring at her.

“Why should I?” she retorted.

“Well—­what’s the trouble with it?  It isn’t as hard as it would be in some other places, is it?”

“I’m not saying anything against the place.”

“What, then?”

“You asked me if I liked my work.  I don’t.”

“Then why do you do it?” he demanded.

“To live,” she replied.

He smiled, but his gesture as he stroked his moustache implied a slight annoyance at her composure.  He found it difficult with this dark, self-contained young woman to sustain the role of benefactor.

“What kind of work would you like to do?” he demanded.

“I don’t know.  I haven’t got the choice, anyway,” she said.

He observed that she did her work well, to which she made no answer.  She refused to help him, although Miss Ottway must have warned her.  She acted as though she were conferring the favour.  And yet, clearing his throat, he was impelled to say:—­“Miss Ottway’s leaving me, she’s going into the Boston office with Mr. Semple, the treasurer of the corporation.  I shall miss her, she’s an able and reliable woman, and she knows my ways.”  He paused, fingering his paper knife.  “The fact is, Miss Bumpus, she’s spoken highly of you, she tells me you’re quick and accurate and painstaking—­I’ve noticed that for myself.  She seems to think you could do her work, and recommends that I give you a trial.  You understand, of course, that the position is in a way confidential, and that you could not expect at first, at any rate, the salary Miss Ottway has had, but I’m willing to offer you fourteen dollars a week to begin with, and afterwards, if we get along together, to give you more.  What do you say?”

“I’d like to try it, Mr. Ditmar,” Janet said, and added nothing, no word of gratitude or of appreciation to that consent.

“Very well then,” he replied, “that’s settled.  Miss Ottway will explain things to you, and tell you about my peculiarities.  And when she goes you can take her desk, by the window nearest my door.”