“I don't know of any.”
“Well, I'll find you one, my dear, if you'll only smile. You have such a pretty smile.”
“How do you know?” Kedzie queried, giving her a sample of her best.
Charity laughed. “See! That proves it. You are a darling, and too pretty to lack for a job. Give me your address, and I'll get you a better place than you lost. I promise you.”
Kedzie ransacked her hand-bag and found a printed card, crumpled and rouge-stained. She poked it at Charity, who read and commented:
“Miss Anita Adair, eh? Such a pretty name! And the address, my dear—if you don't mind. I am Mrs. Cheever.”
“Oh, are you!” Kedzie exclaimed. “I've heard of you. Pleased to meet you.”
Then Kedzie whimpered, and Charity wrote the address and repeated her assurances. She also gave Kedzie her own card and asked her to write to her. That seemed to end the interview, and so Kedzie rose and said: “Much obliged. I guess I gotta go now. G'-by!”
“Good-by,” said Charity. “I'll not forget you.”
Kedzie moved on humbly. She looked back. Charity had fallen again into a listless reverie. She seemed sad. Kedzie wondered what on earth she could have to be sorry about. She had money and a husband, and she was swagger.