"What's this mean? What's the matter?" he exclaimed. (Was somebody dead at home?) "Anybody sick?" he demanded.
Her father's last question gave Ada her cue. The stranger's presence steadied her as she replied, in a low voice: "Yes. Miss Foster left at three with a headache. Mr. Roper sent me in to take your letters. I am Miss Belle, the new stenographer who came when you were away."
Ada listened to her own calm voice with amazement. She couldn't keep it up long. She was fearfully afraid—really. If her father would pick up the office chair and knock her down with it, it would hurt less than that terrible expression gathering slowly in his piercing eyes. He stared at her in silence. He took her in, slowly—pad, pencil, cuff-guards—the whole ridiculous get-up. He couldn't in the least comprehend what the girl meant by this insolent escapade. She wasn't allowed down here.
"New stenographer, eh? Very well," he said, looking at her narrowly. He'd play the game. "This gentleman wants to dictate a letter," he went on. "Sit down and take it."
Ada managed to pass through the sharp-edged swords that seemed to extend from her father's eyes, half-way through her heart, and crossed the office, sitting down beside the stranger.
