"Why, I thought you were in France, Miss Blake," I suggested.

"That's where I have just come from," she said. "Is Mr. Craven in?" I
told her he was out of town.

"Ay--that's where everybody can be but me," she remarked, plaintively.
"They can go out and stay out, while I am at the beck and call of all
the scum of the earth. Well, well, I suppose there will be quiet for me
sometime, if only in my coffin."

As I failed to see that any consolatory answer was possible, I made no
reply. I only asked:

"Won't you walk into Mr. Craven's office, Miss Blake?"

"Now, I wonder," she said, "what good you think walking into his office
will do me!"

Nevertheless, she accepted the invitation. I have, in the course of
years, seen many persons suffering from heat, but I never did see any
human being in such a state as Miss Blake was that day.

Her face was a pure, rich red, from temple to chin; it resembled nothing
so much as a brick which had been out for a long time, first in the sun
and the wind, and then in a succession of heavy showers of rain. She
looked weather-beaten, and sun-burnt, and sprayed with salt-water, all
at once. Her eyes were a lighter blue than I previously thought eyes
could be. Her cheek-bones stood out more prominently than I had thought
cheek-bones capable of doing. Her mouth--not quite a bad one, by the
way--opened wider than any within my experience; and her teeth, white