Athalie, secretly dismayed, forced a polite smile. Mrs. Bellmore blew a few smoke rings toward the ceiling.
"Are you in business, Miss Greensleeve?"
"Yes.... I am looking for a position."
"What a pretty voice—and refined way of speaking!" exclaimed Mrs. Bellmore frankly. "I guess you've seen better days. Most people have. Tell you the truth, though, I haven't. I'm better off than I ever was before. Of course this is the dull season, but things are picking up. What is your line, Miss Greensleeve?"
"Stenographer."
"Oh! Well, I don't suppose I could do anything for you, could I?"
"I don't know what your business is," ventured Athalie, who, heretofore had not dared even to surmise what might be the vocation of this very large and faded woman who wore a pink kimono and a dozen rings on her nicotine-stained fingers, and who smoked incessantly.
The woman seemed to be a trifle surprised: "Haven't you ever heard of Grace Bellmore?" she asked.
"I don't think so," said Athalie with increasing diffidence.
"Well, maybe you wouldn't, not being in the profession. The managers all know me. I run an Emergency Agency on Broadway."