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He knew that sort of girl, he reflected, out of his vast experience
of twenty-two. They were sentimental, but they loved and forgot
easily. He hoped she would forget him; but even with that, there
was a vague resentment that she should do so.
"She'll marry some mill-hand," he reflected, "and wear a boudoir
cap, and have a lot of children who need their noses wiped."
But he was uncomfortable.
Anna was not in her office. Her coat and hat were not there. He
was surprised, somewhat relieved. It was out of his hands, then;
she had gone somewhere else to work. Well, she was a good
stenographer. Somebody was having a piece of luck.
Clayton, finding him short-handed, sent Joey over to help him pack
up his office belongings, the fittings of his desk, his personal
papers, the Japanese prints and rugs Natalie had sent after her
single visit to the boy's new working quarters. And, when Graham
came back from luncheon, Joey had a message for him.
"Telephone call for you, Mr.


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