“You made me so afraid of you,” confessed the flapper.

“I never meant to, couldn’t help it.”

“I’m horribly shy, but I knew it had to be.  I felt powerless.”

“I know,” he sympathized.

“Our day has come!” roared Grandma from out of the gloom.  “We know our rights!  We’ve broken glass!  We break heads!” This was followed by “Ar!  Ar!  Ar!” meant for sinister growls of rage.  It seemed to be the united voice of the mob.

They drew apart, once more self-conscious.  They walked slowly out, passed the mob scene, which ignored them, and went with awkward little hesitations up the wide walk to the Breede portal.  To Bean’s suddenly cooled eye, the vast gray house towered above him as a menace.  He had a fear that it might fall upon him.

At the entrance they stood discreetly apart.  Bean wondered what he ought to say.  His sense of guilt was overwhelming.  But the flapper seemed clear-headed enough.

“You leave it to me,” she said, as if he had confided his perplexity to her.  “Leave it all to me. I’ve always managed.”

“Yes,” said Bean, meaning nothing whatever.

She made little movements that suggested departure.  She was regarding him now with the old curious look that had puzzled him.

“You’re just as perfectly nice as I knew you were,” she announced, with an obvious pride in this bit of proved wisdom.

“Good-night!”

From a distance of five feet she bestowed the little double-nod upon him and fled.

“Good-night!” he managed to call after her.  Then he was aware that he had wanted to call her “Chubbins!” He liked that name for her.  If he could only have said “Good-night, Chubbins—­”

For that matter he basely wanted again to—­but he thought with shame that he had done enough for once.  A pretty night’s work, indeed!  If Breede ever found it out—­

When he left with Breede in the morning, she was on the tennis-court.  Brazenly she engaged in light conversation across the net with no other than Thomas Hollins, Junior.  She did not look up as the car passed the court, though he knew that she knew.  Something in the poise of her head told him that.

He didn’t wonder she couldn’t face him in the light of day.  He smiled bitterly, in scorn for the betrayed Tommy.

IX

Back in the lofty office that Saturday morning he sat under the eye of Breede, in outward seeming a neat and efficient amanuensis.  In truth he was pluming himself as a libertine of rare endowments.  He openly and shamelessly wished he had kissed the creature again.  When the next opportunity came she wouldn’t get off so lightly, he could tell her that.  It was base, but it was thrilling.  He would abandon himself.  He would take her hand and hold it the very first time they were alone together.  Well might she be afraid of him, as she had confessed herself to be.  She little knew!