B. M. Bower,
Chip, of the Flying U — III. Silver
(1906)
“ Miss Whitmore’s soul burned with resentment. No woman, even at twenty-three, loves to be called “the old maid”—especially by a keen-witted young man with square chin and lips with a pronounced curve to them. And whoever supposed the fellow could draw like that—and notice every tiny little detail without really looking once? Of course, she knew her hat was crooked, with the wind blowing one’s head off, almost, but he had no business: “The old maid’s credential card!”—“Old maid,” indeed! ”
