The Voice in the Fog

Kitty found the situation less easy than she had anticipated. The more

questions she asked, the more embarrassed she grew; and it angered her

because there was no clear reason why she should become embarrassed.

And she also remarked his uneasiness. However, she went on

determinedly.

"Have you ever had any contact with real poverty?"

"Yes,"--close-lipped. "Pardon me, Miss Killigrew, but . . ."

"Just a moment, Mr. Webb," she interrupted. "I dare say my questions

seem impertinent, but they have a purpose back of them. My mother and

I are looking for a private secretary for a charitable concern which we

are going to organize shortly. We desire some one who is educated, who

will be capable of guarding us from persons not worthy of benefactions,

who will make recommendations, seek into the affairs of those

considered worthy. We shall, of course, expect to find room for you.

It will not be a chatter-tea-drinking affair. You will have the

evenings to yourself and all of Sundays. The salary will be two

hundred a month."

"Pounds?" gasped Thomas.

"Oh, no; dollars. I do not expect your answer at this moment. You

must have time to think it over."

"It is not necessary, Miss Killigrew."

"You decline?"

"On the contrary, I accept with a good deal of gratitude. On

condition," he added gravely.

"And that?"

"You will ask me no questions regarding my past."

Kitty looked squarely into his eyes and he returned the glance steadily

and calmly.

"Very well; I accept the condition," Thomas was mightily surprised.