He bowed slightly. "Then at the end of the week, Saturday?"
"Yes, sir, Saturday night."
He again bowed slightly to signify that it was understood and that their talk was ended.
She took her lunch hour to write to Mason. She put many sheets in the machine and crumpled them into the waste basket in accomplishing this:
Dear Mason: I have just learned of your kindness to me at the hospital. Thank you for the thought.
I find that I owe you $269.60, which I will repay in installments. I enclose $12 for first installment. I regret that I am unable to pay it all at once. I am leaving the office. Please don't write.
Congratulations on your success.
Sincerely,
Georgia Connor.
She felt as she dropped the note in the mail chute that Mason was a man to love. Imagine Jim doing her a great service and keeping it quiet. Jim took his affections out in words and physical embrace. Jim—she caught herself up suddenly. This wasn't being resigned, as she had prayed God she might be.
She answered half a dozen want ads before she could get the upset price she had determined on—eighteen dollars. She covenanted for this finally with a frowsy looking, bald little lawyer, in an old-fashioned five-story, pile-foundationed, gray stone building on Clark street, put up soon after the fire. The windows were seldom washed and there were two obsolete rope elevators.