From a large mahogany desk in the center of the room, a tall, slim young lady arose, and advanced to greet Betty.
"I have an appointment with Doctor McLeod," said Betty simply.
"Your card, please?"
Betty had forgotten her card.
"I haven't a card," replied Betty, suddenly feeling chilled at formalities. "My name is Miss Emmit—I'm a 'Mormon' missionary."
"O, I will tell Dr. McLeod," said the lady frigidly. And she left the room with a quiet and well trained dignity, that Betty thought matched the furniture.
She was ushered into Dr. McLeod's private study.
A tall, thin man, with a correspondingly thin face and deep-set, gray eyes, sat writing at his desk, which was littered with papers and books.
His high, intellectual forehead was surmounted by an abundance of iron-gray hair.
He looked up quickly, as Betty entered, and then eyed her from head to foot with amused surprise.