in the forlorn city house. Ada had never stayed in town all summer. The Beldens always spent six weeks at some hotel on the Atlantic coast, where there was dancing, and at least the possibility of dancing-partners, Marcus remaining behind with one of the servants to take care of him.
When Ada and her father found themselves opposite each other at the breakfast table, alone for the first time, Ada hoped with all her heart that the baffling, sphinx-like attitude that her father had assumed toward her, ever since she had stepped into his private office and announced herself as Miss Belle, the new stenographer, would now be abandoned. But no. Polite, civil, he was—but official. Naturally, the masquerade continued in the office; but here, at home, surely she could become his daughter again. She longed for him to tweak her ear, to rub his rough chin against her cheek; she might even endure one of his harmless probes at women, if only she could feel his friendliness again.
They never accompanied each other to and from the office. Ada left at least half an hour earlier in the morning, and always returned an hour, and sometimes two hours, later at night. There was often work left on her desk for her to do late in the afternoon, by the elder member of the firm of Belden & Roper, and sometimes she
