She stepped out upon the familiar fourth floor. It was the same—no different: the old racket, the old hum and confusion. A minute or two passed before she was seen; then there was a general whispering, machines stopped clicking, heads turned; there were smiles and nods from all parts of the big room. Mrs. O’Brien, Mr. Kipps’ stenographer, rose and came to greet her; Miss Sylvester and Miss Kate Smith followed suit. Presently there was a small crowd around her with questions, laughter, little cooing cries of pleasure, a feminine chatter. She caught Mr. Allister’s eye as he was leaving Mr. Corey’s office.
“’Pon my word!” She could not hear him say it, but she saw his lips form the phrase and noted his pleased surprise. He came forward at once, smiling broadly, pushing his way through the women who gave place to him.
“Glad to see you, Miss Sturgis,” he said beaming. “Only, by Jove, you’re not ‘Miss Sturgis’ any more! ... ‘Devlin,’ isn’t it? ... Does Mr. Corey know you’re here? He’ll be delighted, I know. Wants to see you badly. Two or three matters have come up he’d like to ask you about; nobody ’round here seems to know a thing about them.... Come in; he’ll be mighty glad to see you.”
He pulled back the swing gate in the counter and walked with her towards Mr. Corey’s office.
As Jeannette passed within a few feet of Miss Holland’s desk and as their eyes met she mouthed:
“See you in just a minute.”
“Here’s an old friend of ours,” said Mr. Allister, opening Mr. Corey’s door.
The white head came up, and immediately a pleased flush spread over the face of the man at the desk.
“Well—well—well,” he said, getting to his feet and coming to take both her hands. “Miss Sturgis! It’s good to see you again.”
“She’s not Miss Sturgis any more,” laughed Mr. Allister.