"This—Routine. And these—Send them to the proper departments." More notations.
"Yes, sir."
"You can start on those. Bring them in when they're ready."
"Yes, sir." Exit Georgia.
She summoned the deeper layers of her vitality, settled to her work and her fingers flew. She knew the joy—if joy it be—of creation.
Quietly she slipped back into the old man's office, without knocking. His secretary had entrance except at such times as he shut his telephone off.
She seemed very slim and neat, and calm and steady—almost prim, perhaps, as she stood with pen and blotter in her hand to take the old man's signatures.
But her being surged within her like that of a mother who waits to hear if her boy is to be expelled from school or forgiven.
The old man had been going over a campaign plan for business with one of his quickest witted solicitors, and after Georgia had waited standing for a few moments, dismissed him with, "Yes, that's the right line, Stevens. Just keep plugging along it."
As Stevens passed her on his way out he bowed slightly. He had been doing that for some time now, though he had not yet spoken to her.