Nattie, who could not but begin to surmise something of the state of his feelings, but without dreaming of their intensity, now smiled on him, and asked him inside the office. No man or woman can be quite indifferent to one, whom they know has set them on a pedestal, apart from the rest of the world.
“I—really I—I beg pardon, I’m sure,” the agitated Quimby, trembling at his own daring, responded to her invitation. “I—I was passing—quite accidentally, you know—thought I would just step in, you know. Really, I—I must ask pardon for the liberty.”
“We are too old acquaintances now for you to consider it a liberty,” Nattie replied, and the words made his perturbed heart jump with joy. “Business being quite dull today, I shall be glad to be entertained. Of course,” archly, “you came to entertain me?”
Poor Quimby was decidedly taken aback by this question.
“I—I—yes certainly—no—that is—I mean I am afraid I am not much of an entertainer,” he stammered, his hands flying to his necktie and nervously untying it as he spoke. Certainly, the wear and tear on his neckties and watch chain while he was in his present condition of love must have been terrific.
“Aren’t you?” queried Nattie without gainsaying his assertion.
“No—really you know I—I’m always making mistakes—but I’m used to it, you know—and I am not—possibly I might be a trifle better than nobody—but that’s all.”
And having given this honest, and certainly not conceited opinion of himself, he entered the office, sat down, and proceeded to make compasses of his legs.
“Have you seen Cyn today? she paid me a flying visit yesterday, and talked a little to C, but I haven’t seen her since.”
“She went away to sing out of town, let me see—I forget where, and she will not return until tomorrow;” then, uneasily, “I—I beg pardon, but you—you mentioned the Invisible. Do you—I beg pardon—but do you converse as much as ever with him?”
“Yes indeed!” Nattie replied with an ardor that did not produce exactly an enlivening effect upon her caller; “we talk together nearly all the time.”
“What—I beg pardon—but really—what do you find to talk about so much?” he inquired jealously.
“Oh, everything! of the books we read, and the good things in the magazines and papers, and the adventures we have—telegraphically; in short, of all the topics of the day. We agree very well too, except on candy, that I like and he doesn’t,” replied Nattie.
Quimby suppressed a groan, and hastened to assure her that he himself possessed a great passion for sweetmeats.
“But don’t you—I beg pardon—but don’t you find this sort of thing—C, I mean—ghostly, you know?”
“Ghostly!” echoed the astonished Nattie.
“Yes,” he replied, with a gesture of his arm that produced an impression as if that member had leaped out of its socket. “Yes, talking with the unseen, you know; I—I beg pardon, but it strikes me as ghostly.”
Nattie stared.
“What a strange fancy!” she exclaimed. “C is very real, and of the earth, earthy to me, I assure you!”
Quimby’s face lengthened some three inches. “Is he?” he said ruefully. “I—I beg pardon, but you haven’t—you don’t mean to say that—you have not taken a—bless my soul! how warm it is here!” and he mopped his face with a red silk handkerchief—a color very unbecoming to his complexion.
“Warm!” repeated Nattie, her lips curving in an amused smile, for she had a shawl over her shoulders, and was nevertheless slightly chilly. “I don’t perceive it, I am sure.”
“I—I beg pardon—but I’ve been walking, you know,” Quimby said nervously. “But I—I was about to ask—I—I beg pardon—but you have not—not” desperately, “really fallen in love with him, have you?”
Nattie’s eyes danced with amusement, but her color deepened slightly too, as she replied,
“How could one fall in love with an invisible? why, that would be even less satisfactory than an ideal!”
Quimby’s face brightened, and he recovered himself sufficiently to put away the red silk handkerchief.
“I don’t think—really, I should not think there could be much satisfaction in it!” then stealing a bashful but adoring glance at her, he added,
“I—I prefer a—a visible, as being something more substantial, you know!”
“Indeed?” said Nattie, demurely; then thinking perhaps he was drifting on to grounds that had best be avoided, she changed the subject, by saying,
“Do you not think Cyn a very charming young lady?”
“Oh, yes! I—I—yes, very charming!” Quimby answered, but not so enthusiastically as perhaps Mr. Norton might have done. For Quimby’s heart was of the old-fashioned kind, and his fancy was not fickle; besides, being now, in a measure, launched upon the subject, of love, so awful to approach, he was unwilling thus soon to leave a theme so sweet, yet so formidable. Therefore, crossing his legs, and bracing up against the chair-back; he determined, now or never, to give her an inkling of his feelings, an intention so very palpable, that Nattie was glad indeed to hear from the sounder,
“B m—B m—B m—.”
“Excuse me,” she said, hastily. “They are calling me on the wire,” and immediately answered, and began taking a message.
Meanwhile, to him had come a reaction, and he was in a state of total collapse. Before she had finished receiving that message of only ten words, he had drawn himself dejectedly to his feet, and was looking for his hat.
“I—I really—I must go, you know!” he faltered, blushing, as Nattie glanced up at him. “I—I fear I have intruded now—but I—I—” he stopped short, unable to find an ending to his sentence.
“I’m always glad of company,” Nattie said, but a little distantly, as she gave “O. K.” on the wire.
“I—I—really, you are very kind, you know,” stammered Quimby. “I—I pass here on the way to dinner, you see—from the office, you know,”—he eked out his meagre income by writing in
