Thus fortified for her encounter, Carmel opened the door and found herself in a large reception room where were two or three unoccupied desks, and one at which a young man was seated. He looked up as she entered, scowled, but as he comprehended her trim loveliness he manipulated his face into a smirk and got to his feet.
“I wish to see the Governor,” she said.
“Have you an appointment?”
“No.”
He advanced with an ingratiating air. “Well, I might be able to fix it for you....”
“Suppose you try at once,” she said, for his kind was well known to her, as to any pretty girl. His chin dropped. “Take in my card, please,” she said. The young man revised his estimate. She was pretty, but she was class. Class, in his dictionary, meant anyone who could not be approached by the likes of himself. She might even be important. Sometimes women were important. They had rich or influential fathers or husbands. At any rate, here was one it would be unsafe to approach with blandishments. She was able to peg him neatly in the board as an understrapper. He took her card and disappeared through an adjoining door.
Presently he reappeared.
“His secretary will see you,” he said, and as she walked past him he scowled again, and hated her for showing him his lack of importance in the world.
The Governor’s secretary arose courteously as she entered. She appraised him at once; recognized him for what he was, for the mark was strong upon him—a newspaper man, rewarded for services by his position. He was young, intelligent, sure of himself. She knew he would have no awe of personages.
“Miss Lee?” he said, glancing at her card.