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A Fateful Interlude

           Onemightgothroughallthedissolvingdetailsofdaysinwhichshesattakingdictation,receivinginstructions,goingaboutherofficedutiesinastateofapparentlychill,practical,commercialsingle-mindedness;butitwouldbetonopurpose.Asamatteroffact,withoutinanywayaffectingtheprecisenessandaccuracyofherlabor,herthoughtswerealwaysuponthemanintheinnerofficethestrangemasterwhowasthenseeinghismen,andinbetween,soitseemed,awholeworldofindividuals,solemnandcommercial,whocame,presentedtheircards,talkedattimesalmostinterminably,andwentaway.Itwastherareindividual,however,sheobserved,whohadthelongconversationwithCowperwood,andthatinterestedherthemore.Hisinstructionstoherwerealwaysofthebriefest,andhedependedonhernativeintelligencetosupplymuchthathescarcelymorethansuggested.

           "Youunderstand,doyou?"washiscustomaryphrase.

           "Yes,"shewouldreply.

           Shefeltasthoughshewerefiftytimesassignificanthereasshehadeverbeeninherlifebefore.

           Theofficewasclean,hard,bright,likeCowperwoodhimself.Themorningsun,streaminginthroughanalmostsolidglasseastfrontshadedbypale-greenrollercurtains,cametohaveanalmostromanticatmosphereforher.Cowperwood’sprivateoffice,asinPhiladelphia,wasasolidcherry-woodboxinwhichhecouldshuthimselfcompletelysight-proof,sound-proof.Whenthedoorwascloseditwassacrosanct.

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