When he came the following day, with his original purposes and plans once more intact, as he thought, he found that she had made more of a toilet than usual, had devised a new way of doing her hair that enabled him to hang a highly prized addition in his memory gallery of widely varied portraits of her.

The afternoon was warm.  They sat under a big old tree at the end of the garden.  He saw that she was much disturbed—­and that it had to do with him.  From time to time she looked at him, studying his face when she thought herself unobserved.  As he had learned that it is never wise to open up the disagreeable, he waited.  After making several futile efforts at conversation, she abruptly said: 

“I saw Mr. Tetlow this morning—­in Twenty-third Street.  I was coming out of a chemical supplies store where father had sent me.”

She paused.  But Norman did not help her.  He continued to wait.

“He—­Mr. Tetlow—­acted very strangely,” she went on.  “I spoke to him.  He stared at me as if he weren’t going to speak—­as if I weren’t fit to speak to.”

“Oh!” said Norman.

“Then he came hurrying after me.  And he said, ’Do you know that Norman is to be married in two weeks?’”

“So!” said Norman.

“And I said, ‘What of it?  How does that interest me?’”

“It didn’t interest you?”

“I was surprised that you hadn’t spoken of it,” replied she.  “But I was more interested in Mr. Tetlow’s manner.  What do you think he said next?”

“I can’t imagine,” said Norman.

“Why—­that I was even more shameless than he thought.  He said:  ’Oh, I know all about you.  I found out by accident.  I shan’t tell anyone, for I can’t help loving you still.  But it has killed my belief in woman to find out that you would sell yourself.’”

She was looking at Norman with eyes large and grave.  “And what did you say?” he inquired.

“I didn’t say anything.  I looked at him as if he weren’t there and started on.  Then he said, ’When Norman abandons you, as he soon will, you can count on me, if you need a friend.’”

There was a pause.  Then Norman said, “And that was all?”

“Yes,” replied she.

Another pause.  Norman said musingly:  “Poor Tetlow!  I’ve not seen him since he went away to Bermuda—­at least he said he was going there.  One day he sent the firm a formal letter of resignation. . . .  Poor Tetlow!  Do you regret not having married him?”

“I couldn’t marry a man I didn’t love.”  She looked at him with sweet friendly eyes.  “I couldn’t even marry you, much as I like you.”

Norman laughed—­a dismal attempt at ease and raillery.

“When he told me about your marrying,” she went on, “I knew how I felt about you.  For I was not a bit jealous.  Why haven’t you ever said anything about it?”

He disregarded this.  He leaned forward and with curious deliberateness took her hand.  She let it lie gently in his.  He put his arm round her and drew her close to him.  She did not resist.  He kissed her upturned face, kissed her upon the lips.  She remained passive, looking at him with calm eyes.