III
In the cue of people who came up after the morning service to shake hands with the Reverend Dr. Gantry was a young woman whom the pastor noted with interest.
She was at the end of the cue, and they talked without eavesdroppers.
If a Marquis of the seventeenth century could have been turned into a girl of perhaps twenty-five, completely and ardently feminine yet with the haughty head, the slim hooked nose, the imperious eyes of M. le Marquis, that would have been the woman who held Elmer’s hand, and said:
“May I tell you, Doctor, that you are the first person in my whole life who has given me a sense of reality in religion?”
“Sister, I am very grateful,” said the Reverend Dr. Gantry, while Elmer was saying within, “Say, you’re a kid I’d like to get acquainted with!”
“Dr. Gantry, aside from my tribute—which is quite genuine—I have a perfectly unscrupulous purpose in coming and speaking to you. My name is Hettie Dowler—Miss, unfortunately! I’ve had two years in the University of Wisconsin. I’ve been secretary of Mr. Labenheim of the Tallahassee Life Insurance Company for the last year, but he’s been transferred to Detroit. I’m really quite a good secretary. And I’m a Methodist—a member of Central, but I’ve been planning to switch to Wellspring. Now what I’m getting at is: If you should happen to need a secretary in the next few months—I’m filling in as one of the hotel stenographers at the Thornleigh—”
They looked at each other, unswerving, comprehending. They shook hands again, more firmly.
“Miss Dowler, you’re my secretary right now,” said Elmer. “It’ll take about a week to arrange things.”
“Thank you.”
“May I drive you home?”
“I’d love to have you.”