"Well, now we'll take time to consider. Meanwhile bring me something of yours; I'll show it to a friend of mine, an editor here, and if it pleases him we'll know what to do. Meanwhile, come and see me, and I'll introduce you to some nice people. Chicago is full of nice people if you only come at them. Come and see me tomorrow, can't you? O you great, splendid creature! I wish I had your inches." She glowed with admiration.
"Come Sunday at six and dine with me," yielding to a sudden impulse. "Come early and let me talk to you."
Rose promised and then went out into the waiting room.
"Etta, dear, this is Miss Dutcher; this is my sister. I want you to know each other." The little girl tip-toed up and took Rose's hand with a little inarticulate murmur.
There was a patient waiting, but Dr. Herrick ignored her and conducted Rose to the door.
"Good-bye, dear, I'm glad you came. You've given me a good shaking up. Remember, six, sharp!"
She looked after Rose with a wonderful glow in her heart.
"The girl is a genius—a jewel in the rough," she thought. "She must be guided. Heavens! How she towered."
When she stepped into the street Rose felt taller and stronger, and the street was less appalling. She raised her eyes to the faces of the men she met. Her eyes had begun their new search. The men streamed by in hundreds; impressive in mass, but comparatively uninteresting singly.
It was a sad comment upon her changing conceptions of life that she did not look at the poorly dressed men, the workmen. She put them aside as out of the question; not consciously, for the search at this stage was still unconscious, involuntary, like that of a bird seeking a mate, moved by a law which knows neither individuals nor time.