Athalie

When they returned to the office, Athalie began to transcribe her

stenographic notes. It occupied most of the afternoon although she was

wonderfully rapid and accurate and her slim white fingers hovered

mistily over the keys like the vibrating wings of a snowy moth.

[Illustration: "Mr. Wahlbaum ... was very quiet, very considerate,

very attentive."] Mr. Wahlbaum, always smoking, watched her toward the finish in placid

silence. And for a few moments, also, after she had finished and had

turned to him with a light smile and a lighter sigh of relief.

"Miss Greensleeve," he said quietly, "I have now been here in the same

office with you, day after day--excepting our summer vacations--for

more than five years."

A trifle surprised and sobered by his gravity and deliberation she

nodded silent acquiescence and waited, wondering a little what else

was to come.

It came without preamble: "I have the honour," he said, "to ask you to

marry me."

Still as a stone she sat, gazing at him. And for a long while his keen

eyes sustained her gaze. But presently a slow, deep colour began to

gather on his face. And after a moment he said: "I am sorry that the

verdict is against me."

Tears filled her eyes; she tried to speak, could not, turned on her

pivot-chair, rested her arms on the back, and dropped her face in

them.

It was a long while before she was able to efface the traces of

emotion. She did all she could before she forced herself to look at

him again and say what she must say.

"If I could--I would, Mr. Wahlbaum," she faltered. "No man has ever

been kinder to me, none more courteous, none more gentle."

He looked at her wistfully for a moment, and she thought he was going

to speak. But he was wise in the ways of the world. He had lost. He

understood it. Speech was superfluous. He was a quaint combination of

good sportsman and philosophic economist.

He held his peace.

When she left that evening after saying good night to him she paused

at the door, irresolutely, and then came back to his desk where he was

still standing. For he had never failed to rise when she entered in

the morning or took her leave at night.

In silence, now, she offered him her hand, the quick tears springing

to her eyes again; and he took it, bent, and touched the gloved

fingers with his lips, gravely, in silence.

* * * * *

A few days later, for the first time in her experience there, Mr.

Wahlbaum was not at the office.