A poor stenographer—The positive young lady under altered circumstances—Miss Gentles's story—A hard road for tender feet—Social and sentimental—A misunderstanding—Which is made right in the only way—My boss invites us to dinner—Another kind of woman—A woman's shrewdness—The social gift—At the opera—Business and pleasure—Sarah on Mrs. Dround
It was a hot day in August three years after the trial; I was sitting in Carmichael's office trying to get a breath of fresh air from his west windows. I called old Peters and asked him to send me up a stenographer.
"Haven't a good one in the place, Mr. Harrington," he said. "All the smart ones are off on their vacation. There's Miss Gentles, though—the old man generally keeps her for himself, but he's gone home by this time."
"Send up anything so long as it can write!"
"Well, she ain't much good," Peters replied.
I had my head down behind my desk when the stenographer came in, and I began to dictate without looking up. These stenographer ladies were all of a piece to me,—pert, knowing misses,—all but Miss Harben: she was fifty and sour, and took my letters like biting off thread. This one evidently wasn't in her class, for pretty soon she sang out:—
"Please wait! I can't go so fast."
So I waited, and looked up to see what I had to do with. This young woman was a good-looking, ladylike person, with a mass of lovely brown hair and long brown eyelashes. She was different from the other girls in the office, and yet it seemed to me I had seen her before. She was dressed in black, a sort of half mourning, I judged. Pretty soon she got stuck again and asked me to repeat. This time she looked at me imploringly.
"I am not very good," she said with a smile.
"No, you are not," I replied.