Part 21 (1/2)

Miss Armstrong turned to me. I was behind her, half hidden. ”Come in,”

she said. ”I wish to introduce you to Mrs. Sewall--Mrs. F. Rockridge Sewall. The applicant to your advertis.e.m.e.nt, Mrs. Sewall.”

Miss Armstrong stood aside. I stepped forward (what else could I do?) and stood staring into the eyes of my old enemy. It was she who recovered first from the shock of our meeting. I had seen a slight flush--an angry flush I thought--spread faintly over Mrs. Sewall's features as she first recognized me. But it faded. When she spoke there wasn't a trace of surprise in her voice.

”My applicant, did I understand you to say, Miss Armstrong?”

”Yes,” I replied in almost as calm a manner as hers, ”I answered your advertis.e.m.e.nt for a private secretary, and followed it by responding to the test which you sent me, and received word to appear here this morning.”

”I see, I see,” said Mrs. Sewall, observing me suspiciously.

”But,” I went on, ”I did not know to whom I was applying. I answered six other advertis.e.m.e.nts at the same time. I have, of course, heard of Mrs.

F. Rockridge Sewall. I doubt if I would be experienced enough for you.

Miss Armstrong spoke of my youth downstairs.” Mrs. Sewall still continued to observe me. ”To save you the trouble of interviewing me,” I went on, ”I think I had better go. I am not fitted for the position, I am quite sure. I am sorry to have taken any of your time. I would never have answered your advertis.e.m.e.nt had you given your name.” I moved toward the door.

”Wait a minute,” said Mrs. Sewall. ”Kindly wait a minute, and be seated.

Miss Armstrong, your note-book please. Are you ready?”

Miss Armstrong, seated now at a small desk, produced a leather-bound book and fountain-pen. ”Quite ready,” she replied.

Mrs. Sewall turned to me. ”I always finish undertakings. I have undertaken an interview with you. Let us proceed with it, then. Let us see, Miss Armstrong, what did the young lady sign herself?”

”Y--Q--A.”

”Yes. 'Y--Q--A.' First then--your name,” said Mrs. Sewall.

It was my impulse to escape the grilling that this merciless woman was evidently going to put me to; my first primitive instinct to strike my adversary with some bitterly worded accusation and then turn and fly.

But I stood my ground. Without a quiver of obvious embarra.s.sment, or more than a second's hesitation, I replied, looking at Mrs. Sewall squarely.

”My name is Ruth Chenery Vars.”

Miss Armstrong scratched it in her book.

”Oh, yes, Ruth Chenery Vars. Your age, please, Miss Vars?” Mrs. Sewall coldly inquired.

I told her briefly.

”Your birthplace?”

And I told her that.

”Your education?” she pursued.

”High-school,” I replied, ”one year of boarding-school, one year coming out into society, several years stagnating in society, some travel, some hotel life, one summer learning how to live on seven dollars a week.”

”Oh, indeed!” I thought I discerned a spark of amus.e.m.e.nt in Mrs.

Sewall's e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. ”Indeed! And will you tell me, Miss Vars,” she went on, a little more humanely, ”why you are seeking a position as private secretary?”

”Why, to earn my living,” I replied.