“Hello, Miss—uh—O’Mara. This is Mr. DeJong talking. I much prefer that you come to my office and talk to me.” (No more of this nonsense.)
Her voice: “Certainly, if you prefer it. I thought the other would save us both some time. I’ll be there at four-thirty.” Her voice was leisurely, low, rounded. An admirable voice. Restful.
“Very well. Four-thirty,” said Dirk, crisply. Jerked the receiver onto the hook. That was the way to handle ’em. These females of forty with straggling hair and a bundle of drawings under their arm.
The female of forty with straggling hair and a bundle of drawings under her arm was announced at four-thirty to the dot. Dirk let her wait five minutes in the outer office, being still a little annoyed. At four-thirty-five there entered his private office a tall slim girl in a smart little broadtail jacket, fur-trimmed skirt, and a black hat at once so daring and so simple that even a man must recognize its French nativity. She carried no portfolio of drawings under her arms.
Through the man’s mind flashed a series of unbusinesslike thoughts such as: “Gosh! . . . Eyes! . . . That’s way I like to see girl dress . . . Tired looking . . . No, guess it’s her eyes—sort of fatigued. . . . Pretty . . . No, she isn’t . . . yes, she . . .” Aloud he said, “This is very kind of you, Miss O’Mara.” Then he thought that sounded pompous and said, curtly, “Sit down.”
Miss O’Mara sat down. Miss O’Mara looked at him with her tired deep blue eyes. Miss O’Mara said nothing. She regarded him pleasantly, quietly, composedly. He waited for her to say that usually she did not come to business offices; that she had only twenty minutes to give him; that the day was warm, or cold; his office handsome; the view over the river magnificent. Miss O’Mara said nothing, pleasantly. So Dirk began to talk, rather hurriedly.
Now, this was a new experience for Dirk DeJong. Usually women spoke to him first and fluently. Quiet women waxed voluble under his silence; voluble women chattered. Paula always spoke a hundred words to his one. But here was a woman more silent than he; not sullenly silent, nor heavily silent, but quietly, composedly, restfully silent.
“I’ll tell you the sort of thing we want, Miss O’Mara.” He told her. When he had finished she probably would burst out with three or four plans. The others had done that.
When he had finished she said, “I’ll think about it for a couple of days while I’m working on something else. I always do. I’m doing an olive soap picture now. I can begin work on yours Wednesday.”
“But I’d like to see it—that is, I’d like to have an idea of what you’re planning to do with it.” Did she think he was going to let her go ahead without consulting his judgment!