She would come down from her high horse—­with help and encouragement from him.  He was impatient to get to the office and see just how she would do it—­what absurd, amusing attractive child’s trick she would think out, imagining she could fool him, as lesser intelligences are ever fatuously imagining they can outwit greater.

He rather thought she would come in to see him on some pretext, would maneuver round like a bird pretending to flutter away from the trap it has every intention of entering.  But eleven o’clock of a wasted morning came and she did not appear.  He went out to see if she was there—­she must be sick; she could not be there or he would have heard from her. . . .  Yes, she was at her desk, exactly as always.  No, not exactly the same.  She was obviously attractive now; the air of insignificance had gone, and not the dullest eyes in that office could fail to see at least something of her beauty.  And Tetlow was hanging over her, while the girls and boys grinned and whispered.  Clearly, the office was “on to” Tetlow. . . .  Norman, erect and coldly infuriate, called out: 

“Mr. Tetlow—­one moment, please.”

He went back to his den, Tetlow startling and following like one on the way to the bar for sentence.  “Mr. Tetlow,” he said, when they were shut in together, “you are making a fool of yourself before the whole office.”

“Be a little patient with me, Mr. Norman,” said the head clerk humbly.  “I’ve got another place for her.  She’s going to take it to-morrow.  Then—­there’ll be no more trouble.”

Norman paled.  “She wishes to leave?” he contrived to articulate.

“She spoke to me about leaving before I told her I had found her another job.”

Norman debated—­but for only a moment.  “I do not wish her to leave,” he said coldly.  “I find her useful and most trustworthy.”

Tetlow’s eyes were fixed strangely upon him.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Norman, the under-note of danger but thinly covered.

“Then she was right,” said Tetlow slowly.  “I thought she was mistaken.  I see that she is right.”

“What do you mean?” said Norman—­a mere inquiry, devoid of bluster or any other form of nervousness.

“You know very well what I mean, Fred Norman,” said Tetlow.  “And you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Don’t stand there scowling and grimacing like an idiot,” said Norman with an amused smile.  “What do you mean?”

“She told me—­about your coming to see her—­about your offer to do something for her father—­about your acting in a way that made her uneasy.”

For an instant Norman was panic-stricken.  Then his estimate of her reassured him.  “I took your advice,” said he.  “I went to see for myself.  How did I act that she was made uneasy?”

“She didn’t say.  But a woman can tell what a man has in the back of his head—­when it concerns her.  And she is a good woman—­so innocent that you ought to be ashamed of yourself for even thinking of her in that way.  God has given innocence instincts, and she felt what you were about.”