“Beg pardon, Miss Sturgis,” he began. “I hope you won’t think I’m butting-in.”
He had a strong handsome face, big flashing teeth, black hair and black eyebrows.
Jeannette looked at him, bewildered. She had never seen this man before; she did not know what he was doing in her office, nor what he wanted.
“I’m Martin Devlin,” he announced, advancing into the room.
At once she froze; her breast rose on a quick angry intake, and her eyes assumed a cold level stare.
“I hope you’re not going to be sore at me.” He smiled down at her in easy good humor.
“Mr. Corey’s not in,” said the girl. She was staggered by this individual’s effrontery.
“Well, that’s too bad, but I really called to have a few minutes’ chat with you,” he returned nonchalantly. “We have a friend of yours down at our office: Miss Alexander, Beatrice Alexander. ’Member her? She says a lot of nice things about you.”
“Oh!” Jeannette elevated her eyebrows and surveyed the speaker’s head and feet.
“I’m afraid you’re sore at me,” he said. He laughed straight into her cold eyes, showing his big teeth.