About twenty-three or four, I should say.

She's a good-looker, all right; and not a bit stuck up." "Did you get her full name ?" "Sure; it's on the register--Stella Donovan." Enright lowered his feet to the floor, a puzzled look un his face, his teeth clinched on his cigar.
"Hold on a bit till I think." he muttered.

"That sounds mighty familiar--Stella Donovan! My God, I've heard that name before somewhere; ah, I have it--she's on the New York _Star_.

I've seen her name signed to articles in the Sunday edition." He wheeled and faced Miss La Rue.
"Do you remember them ?" "No; I never see the _Star_." "Well, I do, and sometimes she's damn clever.

I'll bet she's the girl." "A New York newspaperwoman; well, what do you suppose she is doing out here?
After us ?" Enright had a grip on himself again and slowly relit his cigar, leaning back, and staring out the window.