“Won't you sit down?”
“Thank you,” murmured Shirley. She sat down, and he took his seat at the other side of the desk, which brought them face to face. Again inspecting the girl with a close scrutiny that made her cheeks burn, Ryder said:
“I rather expected—” He stopped for a moment as if uncertain what to say, then he added: “You're younger than I thought you were, Miss Green, much younger.”
“Time will remedy that,” smiled Shirley. Then, mischievously, she added: “I rather expected to see Mrs. Ryder.”
There was the faintest suspicion of a smile playing around the corners of the plutocrat's mouth as he picked up a book lying on his desk and replied:
“Yes—she wrote you, but I—wanted to see you about this.”
Shirley's pulse throbbed faster, but she tried hard to appear unconcerned as she answered:
“Oh, my book—have you read it?”
“I have,” replied Ryder slowly and, fixing her with a stare that was beginning to make her uncomfortable, he went on: “No doubt your time is valuable, so I'll come right to the point. I want to ask you, Miss Green, where you got the character of your central figure—the Octopus, as you call him—John Broderick?”
“From imagination—of course,” answered Shirley.