“I remember,” said Thorn sourly. “And I regret very much that Mr Madden can not see you. He also asks me to say that unfortunately he must withdraw the permission he gave you in his letter.”
“I’ll accept that word from no one but Mr. Madden himself,” resumed the girl, and a steely light flamed suddenly in her eyes.
“I repeat—he will not see you,” persisted Thorn.
The girl sat down. “Tell Mr. Madden his ranch is charming,” she said. “Tell him I am seated in a chair in his living-room and that I shall certainly continue to sit here until he comes and speaks to me himself.”
Thorn hesitated a moment, glaring angrily. Then he went out.
“I say—you’re all right,” Eden laughed.
“I aim to be,” the girl answered, “and I’ve been on my own too long to take any nonsense from a mere secretary.”
Madden blustered in. “What is all this—”
“Mr. Madden,” the girl said, rising and smiling with amazing sweetness, “I was sure you’d see me. I have here a letter you wrote me from San Francisco. You recall it, of course.”
Madden took the letter and glanced at it. “Yes, yes—of course. I’m very sorry, Miss Wendell, but since I wrote that certain matters have come up—I have a business deal on—” He glanced at Eden. “In short, it would be most inconvenient for me to have the ranch overrun with picture people at this time. I can’t tell you how I regret it.”
The girl’s smile vanished. “Very well,” she said, “but it means a black mark against me with the company. The people I work
