This walk was to her like entrance into war. It thrilled and engaged her at every turn. She was in the center of human life. To win here was to win all she cared to have.
It was a relief to pass into the rotunda of the splendid building in which Dr. Herrick's office was. Outside the war sounded, and around her men hastened. She entered the elevator as one in a dream. The man hustled her through the door without ceremony and clanged the door as if it were a prison gate. They soared to the ninth floor like a balloon suddenly liberated, and the attendant fairly pushed her out.
"Here's your floor—Herrick, to the left."
Rose was humiliated and indignant, but submitted. The hallway along which she moved was marble and specklessly clean. On each side doors of glass with letters in black told of the occupations of the tenants.
She came at length to the half-open door of Dr. Herrick's office and timidly entered. A young girl came forward courteously.
"Would you like to see the Doctor?" she asked in a soft voice.
"Yes, please. I have a letter to her from Dr. Thatcher of Madison."
"O! well, I will take it right in. Be seated, please."
This seemed good treatment, and the soft voice of the girl was very grateful after the hoarse war-cries of the street. Rose looked around the little room with growing composure and delight. It was such a dainty little waiting room, and argued something attractive in Dr. Herrick.
"Come right in," the girl said on returning. "The Doctor is attending to her mail, but she will see you for a few moments."