Ethel Watts Mumford

“ SHE was a handsome, middle-aged woman, with prematurely white hair, and carried herself with a proud self-reliance that was accentuated by the firm contour of her jaw. So much the first glance would have shown you, the second would have revealed eyes softened by tears, a mouth made flexible and human by experience, and if you happen to be a woman, you would have noted her exquisite, tailor-made gown and the richness of her sable collar.
She entered the cable car at Tenth street with the uneasy step of one unaccustomed to such modes of conveyance. ”

“ It is—" and she faltered a little—“Dudley well?” The yearning that into her eyes was beyond her control.
“Would you,” he said, hesitatingly, “would you take afternoon tea with me at the Waldorf?—we are almost there. We can talk—er—of Berkley.”
She hesitated a moment and nodded. “Yes—of Berkley and Dudley. I think,” she glanced at the jeweled watch that hung at her belt, “we have time.”
“Thank you,” he said, with grave courtesy.
Stopping the car at the next crossing he assisted her to alight, while the interested passengers stared and commented. ”

“ I've noticed he never asks any of us what we think fair—end, well, I suppose it in our business to make terms in advance.”
He looked up at her admiringly. “You always were a comfort, Ellen, because a fellow didn't have to drive an idea into your head with a drill. ”