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reed　was　clearly　impossible；　at　least　impossible　to　one　of　her　sincere　and　thorough　nature。　　But　to　find　work　was　very　difficult；　indeed。　After　an　anxious　waiting　and　searching；　she　was　one　day　surprised　by　receiving　through　Charles　Osmond's　friend；　Mr。　Crutchley；　an　introduction　to　the　editor　of　a　well…known　and　widely　read　paper。　　Every　one　congratulated　her；　but　she　could　not　feel　very　hopeful；　it　seemed　too　good　to　prove　true　it　was；　in　fact；　so　exactly　the　position　which　she　would　herself　have　chosen　that　it　seemed　unlikely　it　should　ever　really　be　hers。　　Still　of　course　she　hoped；　and　arrangements　were　made　for　an　interview　with　Mr。　Bircham；　editor　and　part　proprietor　of　the　〃Daily　Review。〃

Accordingly；　one　hot　summer　morning　Erica　dressed　herself　carefully；　tried　to　look　old　and　serious；　and　set　off　with　Tom　to　the　city。

〃I'll　see　you　safe　to　the　door　of　the　lion's　den；〃　said　Tom　as　they　made　their　way　along　the　crowded　streets。　　〃I　only　wish　I　could　be　under　the　table　during　the　interview；　I　should　like　to　see　you　doing　the　dignified　journalist。〃

〃I　wouldn't　have　you　for　the　world！〃　said　Erica；　laughing。　　Then；　growing　grave　again；　〃Oh；　Tom！　How　I　wish　it　were　over！　　It's　worse　than　three　hundred　visits　to　a　dentist　rolled　into　one。〃

〃Appalling　prospect！〃　said　Tom。　　〃I　can　exactly　picture　what　it　will　be。　　BIRCHAM！　　Such　a　forbidding　name　for　an　editor。　　He'll　be　a　sort　of　editorial　Mr。　Squeers；　he'll　talk　in　a　loud；　blustering　way；　and　you'll　feel　exactly　like　a　journalistic　Smike。〃

〃No；〃　said　Erica；　laughing。　〃He'll　be　a　neat　little　dapper　man；　very　smooth　and　bland；　and　he'll　talk　patronizingly　and　raise　my　hopes；　and　then；　in　a　few　days'　time　will　send　me　a　polite　refusal。〃

〃Tell　him　at　once　that　you　hero…worship　Sir　Michael　Cunningham；　the　statesman　of　the　age；　the　most　renowned　'Sly　Bacon！'〃

〃Tom；　do　be　quiet！〃　said　Erica。　　〃I　wish　you　had　never　thought　of　that　horrid　name。〃

〃Horrid！　　I　mean　to　make　my　fortune　out　of　it。　　If　you　like；　　you　can　offer　the　pun　on　reasonable　terms　to　Mr。　Bircham。〃

〃Why；　this　is　Fleet　Street！　　Doesn't　it　lead　out　of　this？〃　said　Erica；　with　an　indescribable　feeling　in　the　back　of　her　neck。　　〃We　must　be　quite　near。〃

〃Nearer　than　near；〃　said　Tom。　　〃Now　then；　left　wheel！　　Here　we　are；　you　see。　　It's　a　mercy　that　you　turn　pink　with　fright；　not　green　like　the　sea…green　Robespierre。　　Go　in　looking　as　pretty　as　that；　and　Mr。　Squeers　will　graciously　accept　your　services；　unless　he's　sand…blind。〃

〃What　a　tease　you　are。　　Do　be　quiet！〃　implored　Erica。　　And　then；　in　what　seemed　to　her　an　alarmingly　short　time　she　was　actually　left　by　herself　to　beard　the　lion；　and　a　clerk　was　assuring　her　that　Mr。　Bircham　was　in；　and　would　she　walk　upstairs。

For　reasons　best　known　to　himself；　the　editor　of　the　〃Daily　Review〃　had　his　private　room　at　the　very　top　of　the　house。　　A　sedate　clerk　led　the　way　up　a　dingy　staircase；　and　Erica　toiled　after　him；　wondering　how　much　breath　she　should　have　left　by　the　time　she　reached　the　end。　　On　one　of　the　landings　she　caught　sight　of　a　sandy　cat　and　felt　a　little　reassured　at　meeting　such　an　every…day　creature　in　this　grim　abode；　she　gave　it　a　furtive　stroke　as　she　passed；　and　would　have　felt　it　a　protection　if　she　could　have　picked　it　up　and　taken　it　with　her。　　That　would　have　been　undignified；　however；　and　by　the　time　she　reached　the　editor's　room　only　a　very　observant　person　could　have　discovered　in　her　frank；　self…possessed　manner　any　trace　of　nervousness。

So　different　was　Mr　Bircham　from　their　preconceived　notions　that　she　could　almost　have　laughed　at　the　contrast。　　He　was　very　tall　and　pompous；　he　wore　a　lank　brown　wig　which　looked　as　if　it　might　come　off　at　any　moment；　he　had　little　keen　gray　eyes　which　twinkled；　and　a　broad　mouth　which　shut　very　closely；　whether　it　was　grim　or　humorous　she　could　not　quite　decide。　　He　was　sitting　in　a　swivel　chair；　and　the　table　strewn　with　letters；　and　the　desk　with　its　pigeon　holes　crammed　with　papers；　looked　so　natural　and　so　like　her　father's　that　she　began　to　feel　a　reassuring　sense　of　fellowship　with　this　entire　stranger。　　The　inevitable　paste…pot　and　scissors；　the　piles　of　newspapers；　the　books　of　reference；　all　looked　homelike　to　her。

Mr。　Bircham　rose　and　bowed　rather　formally；　motioned　her　to　a　seat；　and　swung　round　his　own　seat　so　that　they　faced　one　another。　　Then　he　scanned　her　from　head　to　foot　with　the　sort　of　appraising　glance　to　which　she　was　only　too　well　accustomed　a　glance　which　said　as　plainly　as　words：　〃Oh！〃　　So　you　are　that　atheist's　daughter　are　you？〃

But　whatever　impression　Erica　made　upon　Mr。　Bircham；　not　a　muscle　of　his　face　altered；　and　he　began　to　discuss　business　in　a　most　formal　and　business…like　way。　　Things　did　not　seem　very　hopeful；　and　Erica　began　to　doubt　more　and　ore　whether　she　had　the　smallest　chance　of　acceptance。　　Something　in　the　dry　formal　manner　of　the　editor　struck　a　chill　to　her　heart。　　So　much；　so　very　much　depended　on　this　interview；　and　already　the　prospect　seemed　far　from　hopeful。

〃I　should　like　to　see　some　of　your　work；〃　observed　Mr。　Bircham。　　〃How　long　have　you　been　in　the　habit　of　writing　in　Mr。　Raeburn's　organ？〃

〃For　the　last　five　years；〃　said　Erica。

Mr。　Bircham　lifted　his　shaggy　eyebrows　at　this；　for　Erica　looked　even　younger　than　she　really　was。　　However；　he　made　no　comment；　but　took　up　the　end　of　a　speaking　tube。

〃Send　up　Jones　with　the　file　of　'Idol…Breakers'　I　ordered。〃

Erica's　color　rose。　　Presently　the　answer　from　the　lower　regions　appeared　in　the　shape　of　the　sedate　clerk　carrying　a　great　bundle　of　last　year's　'Idol…Breakers。'

〃Perhaps　you　will　show　me　one　or　two　of　your　average　articles；〃　said　Mr。　Bircham；　and；　while　Erica　searched　through　the　bundle　of　papers；　he　took　up　one　of　the　copies　which　she　had　put　aside；　and　studied　the　outside　page　critically。　　〃'The　Idol…Breaker：'　Advocate　of　Freethought　and　Secularism。　　Edited　by　Luke　Raeburn。〃

〃They　are　slaves　who　dare　not　be　In　the　right　with　two　or　three。〃

Mr。　Bircham　put　it　down　and　began　to　watch　her　attentively。　　She　was　absorbed　in　her　search；　and　was　quite　unconscious　of　his　scrutiny。　　Even　had　she　noticed　him；　she　would　not　have　understood　what　was　passing　in　his　mind。　　His　little　gray　eyes　grew　bright；　then　he　pushed　back　his　wig　impatiently；　then　he　cleared　his　throat；　finally　he　took　snuff；　sneezed　violently；　and　walked　to　the　window。　　When　he　returned　he　was　even　more　dry　and　formal　than　before。

〃These；　I　think；　are　fairly　representative；〃　said　Erica。　〃I　have　marked　them　on　the　margin。〃

He　took　the　three　or　four　copies　she　handed　to　him；　and　began　to　look　through　one　of　the　articles；　muttering　a　sentence　half　aloud　every　now　and　then；　and　making　little　ejaculations　which　might　have　been　either　approval　or　disapproval。

Finally　the　interview　ended。　　Mr。　Bircham　put　down　the　papers　with　a　sigh　of　utter　weariness；　Erica　thought。

〃Well；　Miss　Raeburn；〃　he　remarked；　〃I　will　look　at　one　or　two　of　your　other　articles；　and　will　communicate　with　you　in　a　few　days'　time。〃

Then　he　shook　hands　with　her　with　frigid　politeness；　and　in　another　minute　she　was　slowly　making　her　way　down　the　dingy　staircase。　　Partly　from　the　reaction　after　her　excitement；　partly　from　mental　worry　and　physical　weariness；　she　felt　by　the　time　she　was　fairly　out　of　the　office　as　if　she　could　hardly　drag　herself　along。　　Her　heart　was　like　lead；　blank　loss　of　hope　and　weary　anxiety　as　to　the　next　effort　to　be　made　were　weighing　her　down。　　She　was　naturally　high…spirited；　but　when　high…spirited　people　do　get　depressed；　they　go　down　to　the　very　deepest　depths；　and　her　interview　with　Mr。　Bircham；　by　its　dry　cheerlessness；　by　its　lack　of　human　interest；　had　chilled　her　all　through。　　If　he　had　even　made　a　remark　on　the　weather；　she　thought　she　could　have　liked　him　better；　if　he　had　expressed　an　opinion　on　any　subject；　even　if　she　had　disagreed　with　him；　it　would　have　been　a　relief；　as　it　was；　he　seemed　to　her　more　like　a　hard　steel　pen　dressed　in　broadcloth　than　a　man。

As　to　his　last　remark；　that　could　only　mean　one　thing。　　He　did　not　like　to　tell　her　to　her　face　that　she　would　not　suit　him；　but；　he　would　communicate　with　her　in　a　few　days；　and　say　it　comfortably　on　paper。

She　had　never　felt　quite　so　desolate　and　forlorn　and　helpless　as　she　felt　that　day　when　she　left　the　〃Daily　Review〃　office；　and　found　herself　in　the　noise　and　bustle　of　Fleet　Street。　　The　midday　sun　blazed　down　upon　her　in　all　its　strength；　the　pavements　seemed　to　scorch　her　feet；　the　weary　succession　of　hurrying；　pushing；　jostling　passengers　seemed　to　add　to　her　sense　of　isolation。　　Presently　a　girl　stopped　her；　and　asked　the　way　to　Basinghall　Street。　　She　knew　it　well　enough；　but　felt　too　utterly　stupid　to　direct　her。

〃You　had　better　ask　a　policeman；〃　she　replied；　wearily。

Then；　recollecting　that　she　had　several　commissions　to　do　for　her　father；　besides　a　great　deal　to　do　at　the　stores；　she　braced　herself　up；　and　tried　to　forget　Mr。　Bircham；　and　to　devote　her　whole　mind　to　the　petty　details　of　shopping。

＇The　next　evening　she　was　in　the　study　with　her　father　when　Tom　brought　in　a　bundle　of　letters。　　One　of　them　was　for　Erica。　　She　at　once　recognized　Mr。　Bircham's　writing；　and　a　new　pang　of　disappointment　s