"She has self-respect," he told himself, and felt a
thrill of pride in her attitude as though it had been inspired by himself.
"I have been hearing of you a great deal," she continued, glancing up at
him and smiling. "At our house you are brought to the table with the soup
and taken away with the liqueur. My father interlards his table talk, and
introduces all of his wise new axioms on economy and efficiency and
growth, with a constant procession of 'Sam says' and 'Sam thinks.' And the
men who come to the house talk of you also. Teddy Foreman says that at
directors' meetings they all sit about like children waiting for you to
tell them what to do."
She threw out her hand with an impatient little gesture. "I am in a hole,"
she said. "I might handle my father but I cannot handle that woman."
While she had been talking to him Sam looked past her and out at a window.
When her eyes wandered from his face he looked again at her brown firm
cheeks. From the beginning of the interview he had been intending to help
her.
"Give me the lady's address," he said; "I'll go look her over."
Three evenings later Sam took Miss Luella London to a midnight supper at
one of the town's best restaurants.
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