Divine dissatisfaction
was better. She must keep that conviction before her through years
which might otherwise be gray. For now she was quite sure that nothing
beautiful, nothing glorious, nothing even exciting, could ever happen
to her. And it was at this very moment that she received a peremptory
summons to Mr. Croft's office.
"It'll be about the fire, maybe," the nicest girl in the department
encouraged her. "I shouldn't wonder if they're going to give you a
reward. If there was anything wrong, the word would come through
Meggison sure."
Win smiled thanks as she went to her fate; the girl was kind, not of
the tigress breed. But she couldn't guess how little any paltry act of
injustice from the Hands would matter now.
Miss Child had never before been called to the office of the great Mr.
Croft, but she knew where it was, and walked to the door persuading
herself that she was not in the least afraid. Why should she be afraid
when she intended--really _quite_ intended--to leave the Hands of her
own accord?
There was an outer office guarding the inner shrine, and here a girl
typist and a waxy-faced young man were getting ready to go home.
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