The Grain of Dust Part 22

The mere phrase, even when stated as a negation, gave him a sensation of ice suddenly laid against the heart.

"It's quite easy to tell the difference between the two kinds of men--those that care for me more than they care for themselves and those that care for themselves more than they care for me."

"That's the way it looks to you--is it?"

"That's the way it is," said she.

"There are some things you don't understand. This is one of them."

"Maybe I don't," said she. "But I've my own idea--and I'm going to stick to it."

This amused him. "You are a very opinionated and self-confident young lady," said he.

She laughed roguishly. "I'm taking up a lot of your time."

"Don't think of it. You haven't asked when the new deal is to begin."

"Oh, yes--and I shall have to tell Mr. Tetlow I'm not taking the place he got for me."

"Be careful what you say to him," cautioned Norman. "You must see it wouldn't be well to tell him what you are going to do. There's no reason on earth why he should know your business--is there?"

She did not reply; she was reflecting.

"You are not thinking of marrying Tetlow--are you?"

"No," she said. "I don't love him--and couldn't learn to."

With a sincerely judicial air, now that he felt secure, he said: "Why not? It would be a good match."

"I don't love him," she repeated, as if that were a sufficient and complete answer. And he was astonished to find that he so regarded it, also, in spite of every a.s.sault of all that his training had taught him to regard as common sense about human nature.

"You can simply say to Tetlow that you've decided to stay at home and take care of your father. The offices of the company will be at your house. Your official duties practically amount to taking care of your father. So you'll be speaking the truth."

"Oh, it isn't exactly lying, to keep something from somebody who has no right to know it. What you suggest isn't quite the truth. But it's near enough, and I'll say it to him."

His own view of lying was the same as that she had expressed. Also, he had no squeamishness about saying what was in no sense true, if the falsehood were necessary to his purposes. Yet her statement of her code, moral though he thought it and eminently sensible as well, lowered her once more in his estimation. He was eager to find reason or plausible excuse for believing her morally other and less than she seemed to be.

Immediately the prospects of his ultimate projects--whatever they might prove to be--took on a more hopeful air. "And I'd advise you to have Tetlow keep away from you. We don't want him nosing round."

"No, indeed," said she. "He is a nice man, but tiresome. And if I encouraged him ever so little, he'd be sentimental. The most tiresome thing in the world to a girl is a man who talks that sort of thing when she doesn't want to hear it--from him."

He laughed. "Meaning me?" he suggested.

She nodded, much pleased. "Perhaps," she replied.

"Don't worry about that," mocked he.

"I shan't till I have to," she a.s.sured him. "And I don't think I'll have to."

On the Monday morning following, Tetlow came in to see Norman as soon as he arrived. "I want a two weeks' leave," he said. "I'm going to Bermuda or down there somewhere."

"Why, what's the matter?" cried Norman. "You do look ill, old man."

"I saw her last night," replied the chief clerk, dropping an effort at concealing his dejection. "She--she turned me down."

"Really? You?" Norman's tone of sympathetic surprise would not have deceived half attentive ears. But Tetlow was securely absorbed. "Why, Billy, she can't hope to make as good a match."

"That's what I told her--when I saw the game was going against me. But it was no use."

Norman trifled nervously with the papers before him. Presently he said, "Is it some one else?"

Tetlow shook his head.

"How do you know?"

"Because she said so," replied the head clerk.

"Oh--if she said so, that settles it," said Norman with raillery.

"She's given up work--thank G.o.d," pursued Tetlow. "She's getting more beautiful all the time--Norman, if you had seen her last night, you'd understand why I'm stark mad about her."

Norman's eyes were down. His hands, the muscles of his jaw were clinched.

"But, I mustn't think of that," Tetlow went on. "As I was about to say, if she were to stay on in the offices some one--some attractive man like you, only with the heart of a scoundrel----"

Norman laughed cynically.

"Yes, a scoundrel!" reiterated the fat head-clerk. "Some scoundrel would tempt her beyond her power to resist. Money and clothes and luxury will do anything. We all get to be harlots here in New York. Some of us know it, and some don't. But we all look it and act it. And she'd go the way of the rest--with or without marriage. It's just as well she didn't marry me. I know what'd have become of her."

Norman nodded.

Tetlow gave a weary sigh. "Anyhow, she's safe at home with her father.

He's found a backer for his experiments."

"That's good," said Norman.

"You can spare me for ten days," Tetlow went on. "I'd be of no use if I stayed."

There was a depth of misery in his kind gray eyes that moved Norman to get up and lay a friendly hand on his shoulder. "It's the best thing, old man. She wasn't for you."

Tetlow dropped into a chair and sobbed. "It has killed me," he groaned.

"I don't mean I'll commit suicide or die. I mean I'm dead inside--dead."

"Oh, come, Billy--where's your good sense?"

"I know what I'm talking about," said he. "Norman, G.o.d help the man who meets the woman he really wants--G.o.d help him if she doesn't want him.

You don't understand. You'll never have the experience. Any woman you wanted would be sure to want you."