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The most insistent of the ladies was a Mrs. Coots, who considered that Providence had sent her Milly as a companion. If she had heard Milly’s story in the street she wouldn’t have listened to a word, but print makes things respectable. After it got into the “Franco-American Star,” Mrs. Coots was sure Milly wouldn’t make off with her jewels.

“I’ll pay you well, my dear,” she insisted shrilly. “Twenty-five a week. How’s that?”

Milly cast an anxious glance at Mrs. Horton’s faded, pleasant face.

“I don’t know—” she said hesitantly.

“I can’t pay you anything,” said Mrs. Horton, who was confused by Mrs. Coots’ affluent, positive manner. “You do as you like. I’d love to have you.”

“You’ve certainly been kind,” said Milly, “but I don’t want to impose—”

Driscoll, who had been walking up and down with his hands in his pockets, stopped and turned toward her quickly.

“I’ll take care of that,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Mrs. Coots’ eyes flashed at him indignantly.

“She’s better with me,” she insisted. “Much better.” She turned to the secretary and remarked in a pained, disapproving stage whisper, “Who is this forward young man?”