"I wish you would come down to the office in about half an hour," she said, "…. Directors' meeting. All right. Thank you."
"What was it dad used to call me sometimes—his 'Little Hustler'?" she thought. "If he could see, I'll bet that's what he would call me now."
As she passed through the hall she looked in the drawing room to tell Helen where she was going. Helen was sitting on a chaise lounge and Wally was bending over her, as though trying to get something out of her eye with the corner of a handkerchief.
"I don't see anything," Mary heard him saying.
"There must be something. It hurts dreadfully," said Helen.
Looking again, he lightly dabbed at the eye. "Oh!" breathed Helen.
"Don't, Wally!"
She took hold of his hand as though to stop him. Mary passed on without saying anything, her nose rather high in the air.
Half way down the hill she laughed at nothing in particular.
"Yes," she told herself. "Helen—in her own way—I guess that she's a little Hustler … too …!"