The lady burdened the word "man" with a tiny but distinguishable emphasis.
Mr. Evans chose to ignore this.

"George's friends are going to take him in hand," said he. "Of course he
was foolish to come out the way he has, even if he did say only what every
man believes in his secret heart."

The president of the Whitewater Woman's Club fixed him with a glittering
and suddenly hostile eye.

"What! you too?" she flung at him. He caught himself. He essayed
explanations, modifications, a better lighting of the thing. But at the
expiration of his first blundering sentence Mrs. Herrington, with her
flexible little car, was narrowly missing an aged and careless pedestrian
fifty yards down the street.

* * * * *

"George come in yet?"

For the second time Mr. Evans was demanding this of Miss Elizabeth Sheridan
who had also ignored his preliminary "Good morning!"

Now for a moment more she typed viciously. One would have said that the
thriving legal business of Remington and Evans required the very swift
completion of the document upon which she wrought. And one would have been
grossly deceived. The sheet had been drawn into the machine at the
moment Mr. Evans' buoyant step had been heard in the outer hall, and upon
it was merely written a dozen times the bald assertion, "Now is the time