She was attractive enough
still. Her pallor seemed to have given her a wonderful delicacy.
The curve of her lips and the soft light in her gray eyes, were
still as potent as ever. When she thought, though, what a poor
asset her appearance had been, the color flamed in her cheeks.
In Broadway she made her way to a very magnificent block of
buildings, and passing inside took the lift to the seventh floor.
Here she got out and knocked timidly at a glass-paneled door, on
which was inscribed the name of Mr. Anthony Cruxhall. A very
superior young man bade her enter and inquired her business.
"I wish to see Mr. Cruxhall for a moment, privately," she said.
"I shall not detain him for more than a minute. My name is
Franklin--Miss Beatrice Franklin."
The young man's lips seemed about to shape themselves into a
whistle, but something in the girl's face made him change his
mind.
"I guess the boss is in," he admitted. "He's just got back from
a big meeting, but I am not sure about his seeing any one to-day.
However, I'll tell him that you're here."
He disappeared into an inner room. Presently he came out again
and held the door open.
"Will you walk right in, Miss Franklin?" he invited.
Beatrice went in bravely enough, but her knees began to tremble
when she found herself in the presence of the man she had come to
visit. Mr. Anthony Cruxhall was not a pleasant-looking person.
His cheeks were fat and puffy, he wore a diamond ring upon the
finger of his toowhite hand, and a diamond pin in his somewhat
flashily arranged necktie.
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