“It is not nice of you to talk like that,” he answered. “You accused me some time ago of picking up Jones’ cigarette stumps; a speech such as yours smacks of Mrs. Anderson a mile away. I have begged you so to drop her.”
“Oho! I’m not nice, eh?” And Mrs. Carol nodded and smiled seductively. “Wait till you see. Now tell me, how have you been passing your evenings?”
“Very badly.”
“But how, I mean. What have you been doing?”
“Writing letters.”
“And how long has it taken you?”
“Two or three hours.”
“Precisely. Now if by any combination of circumstances I were able to shorten those two or three hours into one, and mind I only say If, but if I were, would I be nice or would I not?”
To these propositions Nevius assented.
“Very good, will you come with me for a moment.”
Mrs. Nevius led him to the floor above and threw open the library door. Seated at the table was a young woman of that type of blonde beauty which only a sight of creates in the average man a desire to jump straight down the possessor’s throat. As the door opened she rose from her seat, and with a gesture, perhaps of embarrassment, her hand went to the side of her head and busied itself with a curl.
Mrs. Nevius looked at the girl, and in a little voice, which was used only on particular occasions, affably, from the tips or the lips, she murmured:
“This is Mr. Nevius, Miss Vührer.” Then with a glance that stripped Miss Vührer from neck to heel, she turned to her husband.
“Miss Vührer is a stenographer. Oh, quite an expert, I believe. Miss Vührer thinks she can be of great assistance to you. If you have any letters tonight, why not let Miss Vührer show you her abilities?”
Whether or not this projection of peaches and cream into the privacy of the library caused Nevius pleasure or displeasure, not even a lady who was eying him could decide.
“Certainly,” he answered, but he spoke in the matter-of-fact way which he brought into all business transactions. “Certainly, I make no doubt that Miss Vührer is competent, and I shall be glad of her assistance. Let me see. Yes, I have several letters. Perhaps—”
“I will leave you then.”
With a sweet little bow to the young woman, Mrs. Nevius backed from the room and closed the door.
“Perhaps you will sit down, Miss Vührer. Yes, you might sit there, please. You have everything you require?”
Miss Vührer, a pad in her hand, a row of sharpened pencils before her, resumed her seat. Nevius dropped on the sofa, and after a glance at some papers, which he had taken from his pocket, began:
“Waters and Rivers, Wabash Avenue, Chicago, Illinois, Dear Sirs:—In reply to yours of the 18th I have to inform you that—”
And so on and so forth. For an hour the dictation continued uninterrupted, save by pauses of thought, and the tick of the clock on the mantel. Once Nevius heard the door bell ring, and once he found himself scrutinizing this blonde young creature, who rarely turned her eyes to him. The letters done, he stood up.
“Thank you, Miss Vührer, that will do. If you will copy out what you have, I can sign later on.”
He left the room and went down the stairs. On the way he caught the sound of a voice, which, musical as the squawk of a bicycle he recognized at once, and on reaching the hall, picked up his hat and coat. But his step had been heard, his movements perhaps divined, there was a jostle of portiere rings, and before he had got his arms well into the coat, Mrs. Carol was at his side.
“You are not going out, are you? Do come in. It’s only Ablaut, you don’t mind him.”
“Not in the least, but I do mind his carrying off my best umbrella every time it rains, and I wish you would tell him so too.”
“Oh, pooh! Who’s afraid of you? Tell me,” and Mrs. Carol came closer to her husband. “What do you think of her?”
“Miss Vührer? She is very pretty.”
“Is she really!”
The air of surprise which Mrs. Nevius assumed could not have been dissimilar to that which the Duchess of Burgundy exhibited, when she learned that other women had five fingers like herself.
“Is she really! I didn’t notice. How queer men are! But do come in.”
“No, not just now. I have an odd feeling in my head, a walk will do me good.”
And bending toward his wife he received from that lady a rapid and noiseless peck.
When Nevius returned Miss Vührer was about to leave. The drawing room was dark and untenanted. He opened the door for the girl, wished her good night, and went in search of his wife. But Mrs. Nevius must have already retired. There was no answer to his knock.
VII
Meanwhile nothing further had been said about Mrs. Manhattan’s box. Mrs. Carol may have abandoned the project, and as for Nevius, the matter had passed from his mind. He had other things to think of. One evening he returned to the house later than usual; he was tired and looked cross. On entering the drawing room he found his wife already there. At the moment he said nothing, contenting himself with staring at her. Her gown was an artful combination of silk and tulle, colorless yet silvery, and in it, with a large fan and a low bodice, very delightful she was to behold. About her were the incendiary and not altogether definable emanations which the well sent-out of her sex not infrequently exhale, but of which she had made a study. There are women, few indeed, but there are women who merely in raising their arms define the reason of love, and
