"Yes," replied Shirley, her voice trembling a little in spite of her efforts to keep cool. "I am here by appointment. Three o'clock, Mrs. Ryder's note said. I am Miss Green."
"You—Miss Green?" echoed the financier dubiously.
"Yes, I am Miss Green—Shirley Green, author of 'The American Octopus.'
You asked me to call. Here I am."
For the first time in his life, John Ryder was nonplussed. He coughed and stammered and looked round for a place where he could throw his cigar. Shirley, who enjoyed his embarrassment, put him at his ease.
"Oh, please go on smoking," she said; "I don't mind it in the least."
Ryder threw the cigar into a receptacle and looked closely at his visitor.
"So you are Shirley Green, eh?"
"That is my nom-de-plume—yes," replied the girl nervously. She was already wishing herself back at Massapequa. The financier eyed her for a moment in silence as if trying to gauge the strength of the personality of this audacious young woman, who had dared to criticise his business methods in public print; then, waving her to a seat near his desk, he said:
"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: