death-grapples
with those three early enemies. In the meantime the black marks
against them remained for a future easement day.

Dede Mason was still in the office. He had made no more overtures,
discussed no more books and no more grammar. He had no active interest
in her, and she was to him a pleasant memory of what had never
happened, a joy, which, by his essential nature, he was barred from
ever knowing. Yet, while his interest had gone to sleep and his energy
was consumed in the endless battles he waged, he knew every trick of
the light on her hair, every quick denote mannerism of movement, every
line of her figure as expounded by her tailor-made gowns. Several
times, six months or so apart, he had increased her salary, until now
she was receiving ninety dollars a month. Beyond this he dared not go,
though he had got around it by making the work easier. This he had
accomplished after her return from a vacation, by retaining her
substitute as an assistant. Also, he had changed his office suite, so
that now the two girls had a room by themselves.

His eye had become quite critical wherever Dede Mason was concerned.
He had long since noted her pride of carriage. It was unobtrusive, yet
it was there. He decided, from the way she carried it, that she deemed
her body a thing to be proud of, to be cared for as a beautiful and
valued possession. In this, and in the way she carried her clothes, he
compared her with her assistant, with the stenographers he encountered
in other offices, with the women he saw on the sidewalks. "She's sure
well put up," he communed with himself; "and she sure knows how to
dress and carry it off without being stuck on herself and without
laying it on thick."

The more he saw of her, and the more he thought he knew of her, the
more unapproachable did she seem to him. But since he had no intention
of approaching her, this was anything but an unsatisfactory fact. He
was glad he had her in his office, and hoped she'd stay, and that was
about all.

Daylight did not improve with the passing years. The life was not good
for him. He was growing stout and soft, and there was unwonted
flabbiness in his muscles. The more he drank cocktails, the more he
was compelled to drink in order to get the desired result, the
inhibitions that eased him down from the concert pitch of his
operations. And with this went wine, too, at meals, and the long
drinks after dinner of Scotch and soda at the