THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
letter-files and shelves of brown law-books. There was nothing whatever to indicate that Bordman had left the office in a hurry or upon impulse.
Armitage sat down in the chair at the desk and began to whistle softly. The outlook wasn't so dark as might be. If the office-building was still free and unattached, why, he would have between ten and twelve thousand a year. Presently the janitor and Miss Corrigan came in.
"I'm Miss Corrigan," she said. "You wished to see me?" She recognized him instantly. Three times before she had seen him in this office. A little sigh pressed against her lips as she recalled how yonder clean-cut, handsome face had stirred the romantic in her. Nearly all her book heroes had taken upon themselves the face of this man now smiling at her amiably. A vague thrill of gladness ran over her. She had made a hero out of him eight years ago, and his countenance was still open and manly. Here was a man who had traveled straight; money hadn't slackened the fiber. "You are Mr. Armitage."
"Yes. And I believe you are the only
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