"Am I mad? or do I really see what I see?" he muttered.

He turned away to clear his eyes for a second view, for an attempt to
settle it whether he saw or imagined. When he looked again, she was
observing him--and once more she was the obscure, the cipherlike Miss
Hallowell, ten-dollar-a-week typewriter and not worth it. Evidently she
noted his confusion and was vaguely alarmed by it. He recovered himself
as best he could and debated whether it was wise to send her to
Josephine. Surely those transformations were not altogether his own
hallucinations; and Josephine might see, might humiliate him by
suspecting more strongly--... Ridiculous! He held out the letter.

"The lady to whom this is addressed wishes to see you. Will you go
there, right away, please? It may be that you'll get the chance to make
some extra money. You've no objection, I suppose?"

She took the letter hesitatingly.

"You will find her agreeable, I think," continued he. "At any rate, the
trip can do no harm."

She hesitated a moment longer, as if weighing what he had said. "No, it
will do no harm," she finally said. Then, with a delightful color and a
quick transformation into a vision of young shyness, "Thank you, Mr.
Norman. Thank you so much."

"Not at all--not in the least," he stammered, the impulse strong to take
the note back and ask her to return to her desk.

When the door closed behind her he rose and paced about the room