Dangerous Days

"I don't believe it."

"Of course you don't. But he has."

"Who?"

"Delight. She's exactly the sort he thinks you'll need. He still thinks

you are a little boy, Graham, so he picks out a nice little girl for

you. Such a nice little girl."

The amused contempt in her voice made him angry--for Delight rather

than himself. He was extremely grown-up and dignified the rest of the

afternoon; he stood very tall and straight, and spoke in his deepest

voice.

It became rather an obsession in him to prove his manhood, and added

to that was the effect of Marion's constant, insidious appeal to the

surging blood of his youth. And, day after day, he was shut in his

office with Anna Klein.

He thought he was madly in love with Marion. He knew that he was not

at all in love with Anna Klein. But she helped to relieve the office

tedium.

He was often aware, sitting at his desk, with Anna before him, notebook

in hand, that while he read his letters her eyes were on him. More

than once he met them, and there was something in them that healed his

wounded vanity. He was a man to her. He was indeed almost a god, but

that he did not know. In his present frame of mind, he would have

accepted even that, however.

Then, one day he kissed her. She was standing very close, and the

impulse was quick and irresistible. She made no effort to leave his

arms, and he kissed her again.

"Like me a little, do you?" he had asked, smiling into her eyes.

"Oh, I do, I do!" she had replied, hoarsely.

It was almost an exact reversal of his relationship with Marion. There

the huskiness was his, the triumphant smile was Marion's. And the

feeling of being adored without stint or reservation warmed him.

He released her then, but their relationship had taken on a new phase.

He would stand against the outer door, to prevent its sudden opening.

And she would walk toward him, frightened and helpless until his arms

closed about her. It was entirely a game to him. There were days, when

Marion was trying, or the work of his department was nagging him, when

he scarcely noticed her at all. But again the mischief in him, the

idler, the newly awakened hunting male, took him to her with arms

outheld and the look of triumph in his eyes that she mistook for love.

On one such occasion Joey came near to surprising a situation, so near

that his sophisticated young mind guessed rather more than the truth. He

went out, whistling.