Tetlow’s jaw dropped a little.  He looked at Norman, was astonished to discover beneath a thin veneer of calm signs of greater agitation than he had ever seen in him.  “To-day was the first time, sir,” he said.  “And I can’t quite account for my doing it.  Miss Hallowell has been here several months.  I never specially noticed her until the last few days—­when the question of discharging her came up.  You may remember it was settled by you.”  Norman flung his cigarette away and stalked to the window.

“Mr. Norman,” pursued Tetlow, “you and I have been together many years.  I esteem it my greatest honor that I am able—­that you permit me—­to class you as my friend.  So I’m going to give you a confidence—­one that really startles me.  I called on Miss Hallowell last night.”

Norman’s back stiffened.

“She is even more charming in her own home.  And—­” Tetlow blushed and trembled—­“I am going to make her my wife if I can.”

Norman turned, a mocking satirical smile unpleasantly sparkling in his eyes and curling his mouth “Old man,” he said, “I think you’ve gone crazy.”

Tetlow made a helpless gesture.  “I think so myself.  I didn’t intend to marry for ten years—­and then—­I had quite a different match in mind.”

“What’s the matter with you, Billy?” inquired Norman, inspecting him with smiling, cruelly unfriendly eyes.

“I’m damned if I know, Norman,” said the head clerk, assuming that his friend was sympathetic and dropping into the informality of the old days when they were clerks together in a small firm.  “I’d have proposed to her last night if I hadn’t been afraid I’d lose her by being in such a hurry. . . .  You’re in love yourself.”

Norman startled violently.

“You’re going to get married.  Probably you can sympathize.  You know how it is to meet the woman you want and must have.”

Norman turned away.

“I’ve had—­or thought I had—­rather advanced ideas on the subject of women.  I’ve always had a horror of being married for a living or for a home or as an experiment or a springboard.  My notion’s been that I wouldn’t trust a woman who wasn’t independent.  And theoretically I still think that’s sound.  But it doesn’t work out in practice.  A man has to have been in love to be able to speak the last word on the sex question.”

Norman dropped heavily into his desk chair and rumpled his hair into disorder.  He muttered something—­the head clerk thought it was an oath.

“I’d marry her,” Tetlow went on, “if I knew she was simply using me in the coldest, most calculating way.  My only fear is that I shan’t be able to get her—­that she won’t marry me.”

Norman sneered.  “That’s not likely,” he said.

“No, it isn’t,” admitted Tetlow.  “They—­the Hallowells—­are nice people—­of as good family as there is.  But they’re poor—­very poor.  There’s only her father and herself.  The old man is a scientist—­spends most of his time at things that won’t pay a cent—­utterly impractical.  A gentleman—­an able man, if a little cracked—­at least he seemed so to me who don’t know much about scientific matters.  But getting poorer steadily.  So I think she will accept me.”