Jennette Lee

“ She straightened the shade and returned the duster and paper cuffs to the closet, and seated herself by the desk, arranging the ink-stand and pens, erasers and pencils in exact order.
All her movements were deft and precise and still—hardly more than a passing of grayness. Yet there was nothing ethereal about her. She was plump and healthy, and a little stout. In her gray eye there was a look of keenness as it glanced around the spotless office. An artist might have liked to paint her as she sat beside her desk—so perfect was the setting of the room for her personality. ”

“ The handful of flowers on the desk gave out a subtle fragrance.
The man's eye rested on them gloomily. "I suppose you'd want to keep this office. . . . But we can merge the down-town ones. There's big business for us if we join forces. We'll make New York sit up!" ”

“ Milly's hand reached out to the drawer beside her. But before she could open it, the telephone-bell rang sharply.
A look of vexation crossed her face. "I forgot to cut off! I don't mean to let them call while any one is here. If a client breaks off talking—you lose a week!"
He nodded understandingly. "There's a lot in it !" he said.
The bell rang again, imperiously, with a little burr at the end, and Milly took up the receiver and listened.
"Millicent Newberry, yes." . . . A long silence, punctuated by the changing lights in Milly's face. . . . "Very well, I'll come." ”