manufactured; on the contrary, them we worship with peculiar gusto. Norman knew his gods were frauds, that their divine qualities were of the earth earthy. But he served them, and what most appealed to him in Josephine was that she incorporated about all their divine qualities. 

 He and his sister went home together. Her first remark in the auto was: "What were you and Josie quarreling about?" 

 "Quarreling?" inquired he in honest surprise. 

 "I looked at her through my glasses and saw that the was all upset—and you, too." 

 "This is too ridiculous," cried he. 

 "She looked—jealous." 

 "Nonsense! What an imagination you have!" 

 "I saw what I saw," Ursula maintained. "Well, I suppose she has heard something—something recent. I thought you had sworn off, Fred. But I might have known." 

 Norman was angry. He wondered at his own exasperation, out of all proportion to any apparent provoking cause. And it was most unusual for him to feel temper, all but unprecedented for him to show it, no matter how strong the temptation. 

 "It's a good idea, to make her jealous," pursued his sister. "Nothing like jealousy to stimulate interest." 

 "Josephine is not that sort of woman." 

 "You know better. All women are that sort. All men, too. Of course, some men and women grow angry and go away when they get jealous while others stick closer. So one has to be judicious." 

 "Josephine and I understand each other far too well for such pettiness." 

 "Try her. No, you needn't. You have." 

 "Didn't I tell you——" 

 "Then what was she questioning you about?" 

 "Just to show you how wrong you were, I'll tell you. She was asking me about a poor little girl down at the office—one she wants to help." 

 Ursula laughed. "To help out of your office, I guess. I thought you'd lived long enough, Fred, to learn that no woman trusts any man about any woman. Who is this 'poor little girl'?" 

 "I don't even know her name. One of the typewriters." 

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