there at four-thirty.” Her voice was leisurely, low, rounded. An admirable voice. Restful.
“Very well. Four-thirty,” said Dirk, crisply. Jerked the receiver onto the hook. That was the way to handle ’em. These females of forty with straggling hair and a bundle of drawings under their arm.
The female of forty with straggling hair and a bundle of drawings under her arm was announced at four-thirty to the dot. Dirk let her wait five minutes in the outer office, being still a little annoyed. At four-thirty-five there entered his private office a tall slim girl in a smart little broadtail jacket, fur-trimmed skirt, and a black hat at once so daring and so simple that even a man must recognize its French nativity. She carried no portfolio of drawings under her arms.
Through the man’s mind flashed a series of unbusinesslike thoughts such as: “Gosh!. . . Eyes! . . . That’s way I like to see girl dress. . . Tired looking. . . No, guess it’s her eyes—sort of fatigued.. . . Pretty. . . No, she isn’t. . . yes, she. . .” Aloud he said, “This is very kind of you, Miss O’Mara.” Then he thought that sounded pompous and said, curtly, “Sit down.”
Miss O’Mara sat down. Miss O’Mara looked at him with her tired deep blue eyes. Miss O’Mara said nothing. She regarded him pleasantly, quietly, composedly. He waited for her to say that usually she did not come to business offices; that she had only twenty minutes to give him; that the day was warm, or
