esale houses. If they
had attempted, occasionally, to mingle the social and personal with the
commercial Fanny had not resented their attitude. She had accepted their
admiration and refused their invitations with equal good nature, and
thus retained their friendship. It is not exaggeration to say that
she looked upon Michael Fenger much as she had upon these genial
fellow-workers. A woman as straightforward and direct as she has what is
known as a single-track mind in such matters. It is your soft and silken
mollusc type of woman whose mind pursues a slimy and labyrinthine trail.
But it is useless to say that she did not feel something of the intense
personal attraction of the man. Often it used to puzzle and annoy her
to find that as they sat arguing in the brisk, everyday atmosphere of
office or merchandise room the air between them would suddenly become
electric, vibrant. They met each other's eyes with effort. When their
hands touched, accidentally, over papers or samples they snatched them
back. Fanny found herself laughing uncertainly, at nothing, and was
furious. When a silence fell between them they would pounce upon it,
breathlessly, and smother it with talk.

Do not think that any furtive love-making went on, sandwiched between
shop talk. Their conversation might have taken place between two men.
Indeed, they often were brutally frank to each other. Fanny had the
vision, Fenger the science to apply it. Sometimes her intuition leaped
ahead of his reasoning. Then he would say, "I'm not sold on that," which
is modern business slang meaning, "You haven't convinced me." She would
go back and start afresh, covering the ground more slowly.

Usually her suggestions were practical and what might be termed human.
They seemed to be founded on an uncanny knowledge of people's frailties.
It was only when she touched upon his beloved System that he was
adamant.

"None of that socialistic stuff," he would say. "This isn't a Benevolent
Association we're running. It's the biggest mail order business in
the world, and its back-bone is System. I've been just fifteen years
perfecting that System. It's my job. Hands off."

"A fifteen year old system ought to be scrapped," Fanny would retort,
boldly. "Anyway, the Simon Legree thing has gone out."

No one in the plant had ever dared to talk to him like that. He would
glare down at Fanny for a moment, like a mastiff on a terrier. Fanny,
seeing his face rage-red, would flash him