in front of a fast-approaching vehicle—to perform this difficult feat, or that—flamed high within her now.
Not until Mr. Roper asked her her name an hour later did she show hesitation. She started to reply Ada Belden, but stopped short three-fourths of the way through.
"I beg your pardon. Belle—did you say, Miss Ada Belle—? Over here, please, Miss Belle; this will be your desk."
It was as easy as that. Nobody suspected her. Nobody made it difficult or embarrassing. Ada found herself printing the name of her father's firm over and over again that first day with as much familiarity as if she hadn't stood in august awe of it all her life. Strange coincidence! Here she was in the sacred office where her father so often reminded them at home he slaved for their benefit. Here she was slaving, too!
On the sixth day at Belden & Roper's, Ada clipped her lunch-hour in half. She hadn't great speed yet, and the pile of work at the side of her machine was discouragingly high. She couldn't possibly finish it before eight o'clock, and she was frightened to stay alone in the office during the evening. She was exerting herself to the utmost, so that she might escape from the building by dark, when Mr. Roper interrupted:
