as to be judicious."

"Josephine and I understand each other far too well for such pettiness."

"Try her. No, you needn't. You have."

"Didn't I tell you----"

"Then what was she questioning you about?"

"Just to show you how wrong you were, I'll tell you. She was asking me
about a poor little girl down at the office--one she wants to help."

Ursula laughed. "To help out of your office, I guess. I thought you'd
lived long enough, Fred, to learn that no woman trusts _any_ man about
_any_ woman. Who is this 'poor little girl'?"

"I don't even know her name. One of the typewriters."

"What made Josephine jealous of her?"

"Haven't I told you Josephine was not----"

"But I saw. Who is this girl?--pretty?"

Norman pretended to stifle a yawn. "Josephine bored me half to death
talking about her. Now it's you. I never heard so much about so little."

"Is there something up between you and the girl?" teased Ursula.

"Now, that's an outrage!" cried Norman. "She's got nothing but her
reputation, poor child. Do leave her that."

"Is she very young?"

"How should I know?"

"Youth is a charm in itself."

"What sort of rot is this!" exclaimed he. "Do you think I'd drop down to
anything of that kind--in _any_ circumstances? A little working girl--and
in my own office?"

"Why do you heat so, Fred?" teased the sister. "Really, I don't wonder
Josephine was torn up."

An auto almost ran into them--one of those innumerable hairbreadth
escapes that make the streets of New York as exciting as a battle--and
as dangerous. For a few minutes Ursula's mind was deflected. But a
fatality seemed to pursue the subject of the pale obscurity whose very
name he was uncertain whether he remembered aright.

Said Ursula, as they entered the house, "A girl working in the office
with a man has a magnificent chance at him. It's lucky for the men that
women don't know their business, but are amateurs and too stuck on
themselves to set and bait their traps properly. Is that girl trying to
get round you?"

"What possesses everybody to-night!" cried Norman. "I tell you the
girl's as uninteresting a specimen as you could find."

"Then why are _you_ so interested in her?" teased the sister.

Norman shrugged his shoulders, laughed with his normal easy good humor
and went to his own floor.

On top of the pile of letters beside his plate, next morning, lay a note
from Josephine:

"Don't forget your promise about that girl, dear. I've a