Neith Boyce

“ There was, however, not the shadow of an afterthought in the green-blue eyes. If anything, they were a trifle quieter and more neutral than usual as she ate her steak and salad with appetite.
"Now that's more sensible than pie and chocolate nonsense, eh?" said Mr. Hawley.
"Well, not to work on," Cecilia said gravely. "Meat in the middle of the day makes me sleepy."
"Nonsense! it isn't the meat you eat, it's the hours you keep. You oughtn't to go out at night."
"Oh, I must!" cried Cecilia with conviction. ”

“ The windows were open, the air stifling. There came a roll of thunder and in a moment more a dash of rain. Then the windows had to be closed and the gas lit.
"Now we can hear ourselves think," observed Mr. Hawley, when he had given his order. "Doesn't this perpetual racket bother you?"
"I don't notice it any more. I've got used to it." Miss Clayber had regained her self-possession so far as to look perfectly composed, and even to smile.
"But the noise in the office,—the machines and so on,—don't you find it bad for your nerves?" ”

“ Hawley suddenly. "But," he went on, leaning over the little table, "you must need a rest, just the same. You've been working—let's see—eight months steadily, eight or nine hours a day, and hard work too."
"Oh, that's nothing, I'm strong," said Miss Clayber with a faint uneasiness. "And, besides, I have to do it, you know."
"I think you are," said Mr. Hawley admiringly. "You look it. There are mighty few women that can work as you do and keep their looks. But you mustn't overdo it. This heat is enough to play even me out. ”