All this Bob Garratry learned, and raged at. She herself donated twenty-five student seats for every opera, and a lesser number for each good play. She interested some of her friends in the idea—with characteristic fervour she adopted all the students in New York, but even this large family did not fill the nooks and crannies of her empty heart. You felt it in her work—"the Celtic minor" as one critic said. Possibly Paul Trent expressed it best when he said: "Behind her every laugh you feel her dreein' her weird!"
PART I
"Mr. Trent, Miss Garratry is on the wire," said the stenographer to Trent, who sat at his desk making inroads on the piles of correspondence, official documents, and typewritten evidence which heaped his desk.
"I told you I couldn't be interrupted," he replied sharply.
"I explained that to her, when she called the first time. She says that if you don't speak to her she will come down here."
He smiled reluctantly as he took up the receiver. "Good morning," he said.
"What is the use of having a lawyer, if he acts like a Broadway manager?" she asked.
"I wish you could see the pile of papers completely surrounding me," he answered.
"I'm not interested in your troubles, I want mine attended to."