MIFFLIN [_entering_]: Good morning, Miss Gorodna.

[MIFFLIN _is a beaming man of forty, with gold-rimmed
eyeglasses and a somewhat grizzled beard which has been, a week
or so ago, a neatly trimmed Vandyke. He wears a "cutaway suit,"
not much pressed, not new; a derby hat, a standing collar, and
a "four-in-hand" dark tie; hard, round cuffs, not link cuffs.
He carries a folded umbrella, not a fashionable one; wears no
gloves; and has two or three old magazines and a newspaper
under his arm._]

MIFFLIN: I believe I'm here just to the hour, Miss Gorodna.

NORA: Mr. Gibson has been very nice about it. He told me he would give
you the interview for your article. He's in the factory--trying to
settle some things he _can't_ settle. I'll let him know you're here.

[_She goes out by the door into the factory._ MIFFLIN, _smiling
with benevolent anticipation, places his umbrella and hat on a
chair, then takes his fountain pen and a pencil from his
pocket, smilingly decides to use the pencil, sharpens it
without going to a wastebasket over by the desk; then beamingly
looks about the room. He is about to strike a chord on the
piano, seems alarmed by the idea, moves away from it, dusts the
lapel of his coat, adjusts his collar, studies the posters,
shakes his head over them as if they were not to his taste,
goes to the desk, and after studying it smiles at the rose and
gives it a kittenish peck with his forefinger._ NORA _comes
back and_ MIFFLIN _turns to her with his benevolent smile._]