from
feeling. "But, dear--it isn't complimentary to me, is it?"

"Forgive me, dearest--I don't mean that. I couldn't mean that. But--I
_love_ you so. Ever since I began to love you I've been looking round for
something to be afraid of. And this is the first chance you've given
me."

"_I've_ given you!" mocked he.

She laughed hysterically. "I mean the first chance I've had. And I'm
doing the best I can with it."

They were in good spirits now, and for the rest of the evening were as
loverlike as always, the nearer together for the bit of rough sea they
had weathered so nicely. Neither spoke of Miss Hallowell. Each had
privately resolved never to speak of her to the other again. Josephine
was already regretting the frankness that had led her to expose a not
too attractive part of herself--and to exaggerate in his eyes the
importance of a really insignificant chit of a typewriter. When he went
to bed that night he was resolved to have Tetlow find Miss Hallowell a
job in another office.

"She certainly _is_ uncanny," he said to himself. "I wonder why--I wonder
what the secret of her is. She's the first woman I ever ran across who
had a real secret. _Is_ it real? I wonder."

V

Toward noon the following day Norman, suddenly in need of a
stenographer, sent out for Miss Purdy, one of the three experts at
eighteen dollars a week who did most of the important and very
confidential work for the heads of the firm. When his door opened again
he saw not Miss Purdy but Miss Hallowell.

"Miss Purdy is sick to-day," said she. "Mr. Tetlow wishes to know if I
would do."

Norman shifted uneasily in his chair. "Just as
well--perfectly--certainly," he stammered. He was not looking at
her--seemed wholly occupied with the business he was preparing to
dispatch.

She seated herself in the usual place, at the opposite side of the broad
table. With pencil poised she fixed her gaze upon the unmarred page of
her open notebook. Instead of abating, his confusion increased. He could
not think of the subject about which he wished to dictate. First, he
noted how long her lashes were--and darker than her hair, as were her
well-drawn eyebrows also. Never had he seen so white a skin or one so
smooth. She happened to be wearing a blouse with a Dutch neck that day.
What a superb throat! What a line of beauty its gently swelling curve
made. Then his glance fell upon her lips, rosy-red, slightly pouted. And
what masses of dead gold hai