He did not answer immediately. When he did it was with a "No" that
seemed the more emphatic for the delay.
"Oh, just one of your little affairs." And she began to poke fun at him.
"I thought you had dropped that sort of thing for good and all. I hope
Josie won't hear of it. She'd not understand. Women never do--unless
they don't care a rap about the man. . . . Is she on the stage? I know
you'll not tell me, but I like to ask."
Her brother looked at her rather wildly. "Let's go home," he said. He
was astounded and alarmed by the discovery that his infatuation had
whirled him to the lunacy of longing to confide--and he feared lest, if
he should stay on, he would blurt out his disgraceful secret. "Waiter,
the bill."
"Don't let's go yet," urged his sister. "The most interesting people are
beginning to come. Besides, I want more champagne."
He yielded. While she gazed round with the air of a visitor to a Zoo
that is affected by fashionable people, and commented on the faces,
figures, and clothes of the women, he stared at his plate and smoked and
drank. Finally she said, "I'd give anything to see you make a fool of
yourself, just once."
He grinned. "Things are in the way to having your wish gratified," he
said. "It looks to me as if my time had come."
She tried to conceal her anxiety. "Are you serious?" she asked. Then
added: "Of course not. You simply couldn't. Especially now--when
Josephine might hear. I suppose you've noticed how Joe Culver is hanging
round her?"
He nodded.
"There's no danger--unless----"
"I shall marry Josephine."
"Not if she hears."
"She's not going to hear."
"Don't be too sure. Women love to boast. It tickles their vanity to have
a man. Yes, they pretend to be madly in love simply to give themselves
the excuse for tattling."
"She'll not hear."
"You can't be sure."
"I want you to help me out. I'm going to tell her I'm tremendously busy
these few next days--or weeks."
"Weeks!" Ursula Fitzhugh laughed. "My, it must be serious!"
"Weeks," repeated her brother. "And I want you to say things that'll
help out--and to see a good deal of her." He flung down his cigar. "You
women don't understand how it is with a man."
"Don't we though! Why, it's a very ordinary occurrence for a woman to be
really in love with several men at once."
His eyes gleamed jealously. "I don't believe it," he cried.
"Not Josephine," she said reassuringly. "She's one of those
single-hearted, untemperamental women. They concentrate. They have no
imagination."
"I wasn't thinking of Josephine," said he sullenly. "To go back to what
I was saying, I am in love with Josephine and with no one else. I can't
explain to you how or why I'm entangled. But I'll get myself untangled
all right--and very shortly."
"I know that, Fred. You aren't the permanent damn-fool sort."
"I should say not!" exclaimed he. "It's a hopeful sign that I know
exactly how big a fool I am."
She shook her head in strong dissent. "On the contrary," said she,
"it's a bad sign. I didn't realize I was making a fool of myself until
you pointed it out to me. That stopped me. If I had been doing it with
my eyes open, your jacking me up would only have made me go ahead."
"A woman's different. It doesn't take much to stop a woman. She's about
half stopped when she begins."
Ursula was thoroughly alarmed. "Fred," she said earnestly, "you're
running bang into danger. The time to stop is right now."
"Can't do it," he said. "Let's not talk about it."
"Can't? That word from _you_?"
"From me," replied he. "Don't forget helping out with Josephine. Let's
go."
And he refused to be persuaded to stay on--or to be cajoled or baited
into talking further of this secret his sister saw was weighing heavily.
* * * * *
He was down town half an hour earlier than usual the next morning. But
no one noted it because his habit had always been to arrive among the
first--not to set an example but to give his prodigious industry the
fullest swing. There was in Turkey a great poet of whom it is said that
he must have written twenty-five hours a day. Norman's accomplishment
bulked in that same way before his associates. He had not slept the
whole night. But, thanks to his enormous vitality, no trace of this
serious dissipation showed. The huge supper he had eaten--and drunk--the
sleepless night and the giant breakfast of fruit and cereal and chops
and wheat cakes and coffee he had laid in to stay him until lunch time,
would together have given pause to any but such a physical organization
as his. The only evidence of it was a certain slight irritability--but
this may have been due to his state of intense self-dissatisfaction.
As he entered the main room his glance sought the corner where Miss
Hallowell was ensconced. She happened to look up at that instant. With a
radiant smile she bowed to him in friendliest fashion. He colored
deeply, frowned with annoyance, bowed coldly and strode into his room.
He fussed and fretted about with his papers for a few minutes, then rang
the bell.
"Send in Miss Pritchard--no, Mr. Gowdy--no, Miss Hallowell," he said to
the office boy. And then he looked sharply at the pert young face for
possible signs of secret cynical amusement. He saw none such, but was
not convinced. He knew too well how by a sort of occult process the
servants, all the subordinates, round a person like himself discover the
most intimate secrets, almost get the news before anything has really
occurred.
Miss Hallowell appeared, and very cold and reserved she looked as she
stood waiting.
"I sent for you because--" he began. He glanced at the door to make sure
that it was closed--"because I wanted to hear your voice." And he
laughed boyishly. He was in high good humor now.
"Why did you speak to me as you did when you came in?" said she.
There was certainly novelty in this direct attack, this equal to equal
criticism of his manners. He was not pleased with the novelty; but at
the same time he felt a lack of the courage to answer her as she
deserved, even if she was playing a clever game. "It isn't necessary
that the whole office should know our private business," said he.