“I won’t.  I’m only too anxious to get out of town.”

Shortly after Henry arrived at the office Miss Drury came into his room.  “Your sister was here just now,” she said.

“Was she?”

“Yes, she came to wait for the verdict.”

“That reminds me.  I intended to telephone, but forgot it.”

“She said she knew you wouldn’t think of it.”

“Did you quarrel?” Henry asked.

“Did we quarrel?  Well, now, I like that question.  No, we didn’t quarrel.  I got along with her quite as well as I do with her brother.  She said that she had often wondered who got up my department, but that no one had ever told her.”

“She may have wondered, but she never asked.  So, you see, I intend to rid myself of blame even at the expense of my sister.”

“Oh, I suppose she said it merely to put me in good humor with myself.”

“But wouldn’t it have been more in harmony with a woman’s character if she’d given you a sly cut, a tiny stab, to put you in ill humor with the world?”

“I hope you don’t mean that, Mr. Witherspoon.”

“Why?  Would it make you think less of women?”

“What egotism!  No, less of you.”

“Oh, if that’s the case I’ll withdraw it—­will say that I didn’t mean it.”

“That’s so kind of you that I’m almost glad you said it.”

She went back to her work, but a few moments later she returned, and now she appeared to be embarrassed.  “You must pardon me,” she said.

“Pardon you?  What for?”

“For speaking so rudely just now.  You constantly make me forget that I am working for you.”

“That’s a high compliment.  But I didn’t notice that you spoke rudely.”

“Yes, I said ‘what egotism,’ and I’m sorry.”

“You must not be sorry, for if you meant what you said, I deserved it.”

“Oh, then you really did mean what you said about women.”

Henry laughed.  “Miss Drury, don’t worry over anything I say; and remember that I’m pleased whenever you forget that you are working for me.  You didn’t know that I was instrumental in the arrest of Brooks, did you?”

“Why, no, I never thought of such a thing.”

“You must keep it to yourself, but I was, and why?  I hated him.  Once he suggested to me that he would like to have you take lunch with him.  I told him that you didn’t go out with any one, and with coldbloodedness he replied, ‘Ah, she hasn’t been here long.’  I hated him from that moment.  Don’t you see what a narrow-minded fellow I am?”

“Narrow-minded!”

“Yes, to move the law against a man merely because he had spoken lightly of—­of my friend.”

She was leaning against the door-case and was looking down.  She dropped a paper.  Henry glanced at the window, which he called his loop-hole of freedom, for through it no Colossus could be seen.  He turned slowly and looked toward the door.  The girl was gone.