Over coffee and his cigar he broke out. What did she suppose? That damned protégé of Frenside's—that Middle-Western yahoo … Weston, yes … had been turning the office into a beer garden… . Yes, this very afternoon. Outrageous … Why, a drunken fellow came in and tried to fight him … and, well, the fact was Weston funked it … luckily, or they might have had the police there … and the other man would have made mincemeat of him… . Disgusting business … he'd told Weston what he thought of it… . Over a woman, of course …

"A woman?" Halo echoed, startled. "Why, he's only just married, isn't he?" Well—there you had it, her husband's shrug emphasized. He was that sort, was Frenside's little pet… . Messing about with women before his honeymoon was over … The cigar drew less well than usual; Tarrant stood up and paced the floor angrily. Disgusting … he wouldn't have it, he repeated. Good mind to sack the fool on the spot … a coward too, that was the worst of it. He threw the cigar into the fire, and groped nervously for another… .

Halo, leaning back in her deep armchair, looked up at him with indolent curiosity. "Lewis, aren't you just simply overworked—overwrought?" she suggested.

"Just simply—?"

"I mean haven't you let your nerves get the better of you? You look dead beat." She made a friendly gesture toward the opposite armchair. "Sit down and light your cigar. Who told you this preposterous yarn anyhow?"

"Preposterous yarn?" He paled with anger, and she saw her mistake. "No one told me—no one had to. I was there. In the front row—saw the ruffian slap Weston's face, and Weston turn the other cheek. Precisely."

Halo mused, perplexed but still unperturbed. "But the fact that the ruffian was drunk—isn't that the reason?"

"Why Weston wouldn't fight?"

"Not in your office, at any rate. Put yourself in his place."

But Tarrant knew of few places worthy to put himself in. "Thank you, my dear. I don't happen to have lowdown blackguards trying to fight me."

"I should have thought any man might, accidentally." She paused and reflected. "Anyhow, it doesn't seem to have bothered young Weston much," she let drop with a retrospective smile.

Through Tarrant's fresh cloud of cigar smoke she saw his suspicious flush. "I don't know how much it bothered him; but he looked pretty thoroughly ashamed of himself."

"He got over it quickly then. He'd forgotten all about it when he was here just now."

Tarrant swung round in surprise, and she continued, in the tone of leisurely narrative: "About an hour ago. He dashed in on his way to the train, staggering under his mother-in-law's Christmas bundles. He'd called on very particular business. You'll never guess … "

"Why should I?" Tarrant growled.

"Try—"

He answered by another shrug—this time of indifference.