Kingdon Knox was not conscious of any special meanness of spirit. He was
a lawyer and a good one. He was fifty, and wore his years with an effect
of youth. He exercised persistently and kept his boyish figure. He had
keen, dark eyes, and silver in his hair. He was always well groomed and
well dressed, and his income provided him with the proper settings. His
home in the suburb was spacious and handsome and presided over by a
handsome and socially successful wife. His office was presided over by
Mary Barker, who was his private secretary. She was thirty-five and had
been in his office for fifteen years. She had come to him an unformed
girl of twenty; she was now a perfect adjunct to his other office
appointments. She wore tailored frocks, her hair was exquisitely dressed
in shining waves, her hands were white and her nails polished, her
slender feet shod in unexceptional shoes.
Nannie Ashburner, who was also in the office and who now and then took
Knox's dictation, had an immense admiration for Mary. "I wish I could
wear my clothes as you do," she would say as they walked home together.
"Clothes aren't everything."
"Well, they are a lot."
"I would give them all to be as young as you are."
"You don't look old, Mary."
"Of course I take care of myself," said Mary, "but if I were as young as
you I'd begin over again."
"How do you mean 'begin,' Mary?"
But Mary was not communicative. "Oh, well, I'd have some things that I
might have had and can't get now," was all the satisfaction that she
gave Nannie.
It was through Mary that Nannie had obtained her position in Kingdon
Knox's office. Mary had boarded with Nannie's mother for five years.
Nannie was fourteen when Mary came. She had finished high school and had
had a year in a business college, and then Mrs. Ashburner had asked Mary
if there was any chance for her in Kingdon Knox's office.
Mary had considered it, but had seemed to hesitate. "We need another
typist, but I am not sure it is the place for her."
"Why not?"
Mary did not say why. "I wish she didn't have to work at all. She ought
to get married."
"Dick McDonald wants her. But she's too young, Mary."
"You were married at nineteen."
"Yes, and a lot I got out of it." Mrs. Ashburner was sallow and cynical.
"I kept boarders to make a living for my husband, Mary; and since he
died I've kept boarders to make a living for Nannie and me."
"But Dick gets good wages."
"Well, he can wait till he saves something."
"Don't make him wait too long."
It was against her better judgment that Mary Barker spoke to her
employer about Nannie. "I should want her to help me. She is not expert
enough to take your dictation, but she could relieve me of a lot of
detail."
"Well, let me have a look at her," Kingdon Knox had said.
So Nannie had come to be looked over, and she had blushed a little and
had been rather breathless as she had talked to Mr. Kingdon, and he had
been aware of the vividness of her young beauty; for Nannie had red hair
that curled over her ears, and her skin was warm ivory, and her eyes
were gray.
Her clothes were not quite up to the office standard, but Knox, having
hired her, referred the matter to Mary. "You might suggest that she cut
out thin waists and high heels," he had said; "you know what I like."
Mary knew, and Nannie's first month's salary had been spent in the
purchase of a serge one-piece frock.
Mrs. Ashburner had rebelled at the expense. But Mary had been firm. "Mr.
Knox won't have anybody around the office who looks slouchy or sloppy.
It will pay in the end."
Nannie thought Mr. Knox wonderful. "He says that he wants me to work
hard so that I can handle some of his letters."
"When did he tell you that?"
"Last night, while you were taking testimony in the library."
The office library was lined with law books. There were a handsome long
mahogany table, green covered, and six handsome mahogany chairs. Mary,
shut in with three of Knox's clients and a consulting partner, had had a
sense of uneasiness. It was after hours. Nannie was waiting for her in
the outer office. Everybody else had gone home except Knox, who was
waiting for his clients.
Mary remembered how, when she was Nannie's age, she had often sat in
that outer office after hours, and Knox had talked to her. He had been
thirty-five and she, twenty. He had a wife and a handsome home; she had
nothing but a hall room. And he had made her feel that she was very
necessary to him. "I don't know how we should ever get along without
you," he had said.
He had said other things.
It was because he had spoken of her lovely hair that she had kept it
brushed and shining. It was because his eyes had followed her pencil
that she had rubbed cold cream on her hands at night and had looked well
after her nails. It was because she had learned his taste that she wore
simple but expensive frocks. It was because of her knowledge that
nothing escaped him that she shod her pretty feet in expensive shoes.
He had set standards for her, and she had followed them. And now he
would set standards for Nannie!