Josephine debated.  “Yes,” she finally said.  “I wish you would send her—­” with a little sarcasm—­“if you can spare her for an hour or so.”

“Don’t make it longer than that,” laughed he.  “Everything will stop while she’s gone.”

It pleased him, in a way, this discovery that Josephine had such a common, commonplace weakness as jealousy.  But it also took away something from his high esteem for her—­an esteem born of the lover’s idealizings; for, while he was not of the kind of men who are on their knees before women, he did have a deep respect for Josephine, incarnation of all the material things that dazzled him—­a respect with something of the reverential in it, and something of awe—­more than he would have admitted to himself.  To-day, as of old, the image-makers are as sincere worshipers as visit the shrines.  In our prostrations and genuflections in the temple we do not discriminate against the idols we ourselves have manufactured; on the contrary, them we worship with peculiar gusto.  Norman knew his gods were frauds, that their divine qualities were of the earth earthy.  But he served them, and what most appealed to him in Josephine was that she incorporated about all their divine qualities.

He and his sister went home together.  Her first remark in the auto was:  “What were you and Josie quarreling about?”

“Quarreling?” inquired he in honest surprise.

“I looked at her through my glasses and saw that the was all upset—­and you, too.”

“This is too ridiculous,” cried he.

“She looked—­jealous.”

“Nonsense!  What an imagination you have!”

“I saw what I saw,” Ursula maintained.  “Well, I suppose she has heard something—­something recent.  I thought you had sworn off, Fred. But I might have known.”

Norman was angry.  He wondered at his own exasperation, out of all proportion to any apparent provoking cause.  And it was most unusual for him to feel temper, all but unprecedented for him to show it, no matter how strong the temptation.

“It’s a good idea, to make her jealous,” pursued his sister.  “Nothing like jealousy to stimulate interest.”

“Josephine is not that sort of woman.”

“You know better.  All women are that sort.  All men, too.  Of course, some men and women grow angry and go away when they get jealous while others stick closer.  So one has to be judicious.”

“Josephine and I understand each other far too well for such pettiness.”

“Try her.  No, you needn’t.  You have.”

“Didn’t I tell you——­”

“Then what was she questioning you about?”

“Just to show you how wrong you were, I’ll tell you.  She was asking me about a poor little girl down at the office—­one she wants to help.”

Ursula laughed.  “To help out of your office, I guess.  I thought you’d lived long enough, Fred, to learn that no woman trusts any man about any woman.  Who is this ’poor little girl’?”