Certainly he would always be the master.
He was thus engrossed in his reflections, when there came a gentle rap
at the door. Instantly galvanized into action, he called out in
stentorian tones:
"Come in!"
The door was pushed open, and Virginia Blaine entered, notebook in
hand. Her face was slightly flushed, and she stood hesitatingly on the
threshold, as if fearing to enter. She was attired in deep mourning,
and the simple black dress, relieved only by a little white lace
collar round the neck, enhanced the natural rich coloring of her face.
Starting hastily from his seat, Stafford advanced towards her. Timidly
she said:
"You asked for a stenographer?"
Impressed, as well as surprised by her beauty, at a loss for a moment
what to say, the railroad promoter stammered confusedly:
"No--that is--yes--by all means--won't you sit down?"
She took a seat near the desk, and opening her notebook, got ready to
take dictation. Stafford looked fixedly at her. He remembered now
having seen her at the telephone switchboard downstairs in the hotel
lobby. Smilingly he said:
"What is your name?"
"Miss Blaine," she replied coldly.
"We've met before, haven't we?" he went on.
She colored under his close scrutiny. Why did he stare so? It made her
very uncomfortable. If he did not cease looking at her, she would
close her book and walk out. It was much against her will that she had
come up, alone, to a man's apartment. But she could not afford to lose
an opportunity of earning a little extra money.
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