VIII

The longer he thought of it the stronger grew his doubt that the little
Hallowell girl could be so indifferent to him as she seemed. Not that
she was a fraud--that is, a conscious fraud--even so much of a fraud as
the sincerest of the other women he had known. Simply that she was
carrying out a scheme of coquetry. Could it be in human nature, even in
the nature of the most indiscriminating of the specimens of young
feminine ignorance and folly, not to be flattered by the favor of such a
man as he? Common sense answered that it could not be--but neglected to
point out to him that almost any vagary might be expected of human
nature, when it could produce such a deviation from the recognized types
as a man of his position agitated about such an unsought obscurity as
Miss Hallowell. He continued to debate the state of her mind as if it
were an affair of mightiest moment--which, indeed, it was to him. And
presently his doubt strengthened into conviction. She must be secretly
pleased, flattered, responsive. She had been in the office long enough
to be impressed by his position. Yes, there must be more or less
pretense in her apparently complete indifference--more or less pretense,
more or less coquetry, probably not a little timidity.

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