“How are you this morning?” he said at last—­this morning as distinguished from all other mornings.

“I’m well, as usual,” she answered.  She herself was sometimes surprised by her ability to remain outwardly calm.

“Why did you run away from me last night?”

“I didn’t run away, I had to go home,” she said, still arranging the letters.

“We could have had a little walk.  I don’t believe you had to go home at all.  You just wanted an excuse to get away from me.”

“I didn’t need an excuse,” she told him.  He moved toward her, but she took a paper from the desk and carried it to a file across the room.

“I thought we were going to be friends,” he said.

“Being friends doesn’t mean being foolish,” she retorted.  “And Mr. Orcutt’s waiting to see you.”

“Let him wait.”

He sat down at his desk, but his blood was warm, and he read the typewritten words of the topmost letter of the pile without so much as grasping the meaning of them.  From time to time he glanced up at Janet as she flitted about the room.  By George, she was more desirable than he had ever dared to imagine!  He felt temporarily balked, but hopeful.  On his way to the mill he had dwelt with Epicurean indulgence on this sight of her, and he had not been disappointed.  He had also thought that he might venture upon more than the mere feasting of his eyes, yet found an inspiring alleviation in the fact that she by no means absolutely repulsed him.  Her attitude toward him had undergone a subtle transformation.  There could be no doubt of that.  She was almost coquettish.  His eyes lingered.  The china silk blouse was slightly open at the neck, suggesting the fullness of her throat; it clung to the outline of her shoulders.  Overcome by an impulse he could not control, he got up and went toward her, but she avoided him.

“I’ll tell Mr. Orcutt you’ve come,” she said, rather breathlessly, as she reached the door and opened it.  Ditmar halted in his steps at the sight of the tall, spectacled figure of the superintendent on the threshold.

Orcutt hesitated, looking from one to the other.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, after a moment, “the rest of that lot didn’t come in this morning.  I’ve telephoned to the freight agent.”

Ditmar stared at him uncomprehendingly.  Orcutt repeated the information.

“Oh well, keep after him, get him to trace them.”

“I’m doing that,” replied the conscientious Orcutt.

“How’s everything else going?” Ditmar demanded, with unlooked-for geniality.  “You mustn’t take things too hard, Orcutt, don’t wear yourself out.”

Mr. Orcutt was relieved.  He had expected an outburst of the exasperation that lately had characterized his superior.  They began to chat.  Janet had escaped.

“Miss Bumpus told me you wanted to see me.  I was just going to ring you up,” Ditmar informed him.