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Joe laughed.

‘Did you take a look at Pearl Street?’

Mary’s anger blazed out.

‘I didn’t think you could be so mean and cowardly,’ she cried. ‘You ought to be ashamed to talk about people behind their backs, when–when–besides, if he’s what you say, how did it happen that you engaged me on his recommendation?’

He looked at her for an instant without replying. ‘I’d have engaged you,’ he said, ‘on the recommendation of a syndicate of forgers and three-card-trick men.’

He stood fingering a pile of papers on the desk.

‘Eddy isn’t the only person who remembers the old days, Mary,’ he said slowly.

She looked at him, surprised. There was a note in his voice that she had not heard before. She was conscious of a curious embarrassment and a subtler feeling which she could not analyse. But before she could speak, Harold, the office-boy, entered the room with a card, and the conversation was swept away on a tidal wave of work.

* * * * *

Joe made no attempt to resume it. That morning happened to be one of the earthquake, knock-about-sketch mornings, and conversation, what there was of it, consisted of brief, strenuous remarks of a purely business nature.

But at intervals during the day Mary found herself returning to his words. Their effect on her mind puzzled her. It seemed to her that somehow they caused things to alter their perspective. In some way Joe had become more human. She still refused to believe that Eddy was not all that was chivalrous and noble, but her anger against Joe for his insinuations had given way to a feeling of regret that he should have made them. She ceased to look on him as something wantonly malevolent, a Thersites recklessly slandering his betters. She felt that there must have been a misunderstanding somewhere and was sorry for it.

Thinking it over, she made up her mind that it was for her to remove this misunderstanding. The days which followed strengthened the decision; for the improvement in Joe was steadily maintained. The indefinable something in his manner which had so irritated her had vanished. It had been, when it had existed, so nebulous that words were not needed to eliminate it. Indeed, even now she could not say exactly in what it had consisted. She only knew that the atmosphere had changed. Without a word spoken on either side it seemed that peace had been established between them, and it amazed her what a difference it made. She was soothed and happy, and kindly disposed to all men, and every day felt more strongly the necessity of convincing Joe and Eddy of each other’s merits, or, rather, of convincing Joe, for Eddy, she admitted, always spoke most generously of the other.

For a week Eddy did not appear at the office. On the eighth day, however, he rang her up on the telephone, and invited her to lunch.

Later in the morning Joe happened to ask her out to lunch.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Mary; ‘I’ve just promised Eddy. He wants me to meet him at Stephano’s, but–‘ She hesitated. ‘Why shouldn’t we all lunch together?’ she went on, impulsively.

She hurried on. This was her opening, but she felt nervous. The subject of Eddy had not come up between them since that memorable conversation a week before, and she was uncertain of her ground.

‘I wish you liked Eddy, Joe,’ she said. ‘He’s very fond of you, and it seems such a shame that–I mean–we’re all from the same old town, and–oh, I know I put it badly, but–‘

‘I think you put it very well,’ said Joe; ‘and if I could like a man to order I’d do it to oblige you. But–well, I’m not going to keep harping on it. Perhaps you’ll see through Eddy yourself one of these days.’