Clancy let Mrs. Carey order for her. She envied the older woman's air of authority, her easiness of manner.
"New York hasn't corrupted you as yet, Miss Deane, has it? You keep Maine hours. Fancy meeting any one breakfasting at seven-thirty."
"But I've met you, and you're a New Yorker," said Clancy.
Mrs. Carey laughed.
"I have to work."
"So do I," said Clancy.
"Whereabouts? At what?" asked Mrs. Carey.
"I don't know," Clancy confessed. "I've made a list of firms that advertise for stenographers."
"'Stenographer?' With that skin? And those eyes? And your hair? Bless your heart, Miss Deane, you ought to go on the stage—or into the movies."
Clancy lowered her eyes to the grapefruit which the waitress had brought.