He stood in the doorway and beckoned her out

Hilda Glaum was of Swiss extraction, and something of a mystery. She was good looking in a sulky, saturnine way, but her known virtues stopped short at her appearance. She neither invited nor gave confidence, and in this respect suited Oliva, but unlike Oliva, she made no friends, entered into none of the periodical movements amongst the girls, was impervious to the attractions of the river in summer and of the Proms in winter, neither visited nor received. "'Morning," replied the girl shortly; then: "Have you been upstairs?" "No--why?" "Oh, nothing." Oliva mounted to the floor where her little office was. She and Hilda dealt with the registered mail, extracted and checked the money that came from the post-shoppers and sent on the orders to the various departments. Three sealed bags lay on her desk, and a youth from the postal department waited to receive a receipt for them. This she scribbled, after comparing the numbers attached to the seals with those inscribed on the boy's receipt-book. For some reason Hilda had not followed her, and she was alone and had tumbled the contents of the first bag on to her desk when the managing director of Punsonby's made a surprising appearance at the glass-panelled door of her office. He was a large, stout and important-looking man, bald and bearded. He enjoyed an episcopal manner, and had a trick of pulling back his head when he asked questions, as though he desired to evade the full force of the answer. He stood in the doorway and beckoned her out, and she went without any premonition of what was in store for her. "Ah, Miss Cresswell," he said. "I--ah--am sorry I did not see you before you had taken off your coat and hat. Will you come to my office?" "Certainly, Mr. White," said the girl, wondering what had happened. He led the way with his majestic stride, dangling a pair of pince-nez by their cord, as a fastidious person might carry a mouse by its tail, and ushered her into his rosewood-panelled office. "Sit down, sit down, Miss Cresswell," he said, and seating himself at his desk he put the tips of his fingers together and looked up to the ceiling for inspiration. "I am afraid, Miss Cresswell," he said, "that I have--ah--an unpleasant task." "An unpleasant task, Mr. White?" she said, with a sinking feeling inside her. He nodded. "I have to tell you that Punsonby's no longer require your services." She rose to her feet, looking down at him open-mouthed with wonder and consternation.