None But Lucifer

Chapter XI

Johnson was very patient. Realizing that Hale was distracted, he did not insist on the co-operation he deserved. In the few times that he succeeded in finding Hale at home and tried to continue his lessons in methods of ruling, he treated Hale with remarkable tact. "If anyone has the right and the power to gain happiness" he said once, "it's you, Don't rush yourself. Think this thing out. If you need any help, ask me for it. Meanwhile, I won't bother you until your mind is free. But, William, I want to impress this on you — any time you're stuck, just remember what you are."

From then on he kept away entirely, to allow his partner to solve his personal problems. Hale was grateful for his understanding. At the moment he couldn't even think about co-operating with Johnson. He was too absorbed in teaching Gloria to enjoy the arts. He thought she was making progress.

Drinking highballs in a club after a play, he asked: "What did you think of it?"

"I don't know. I didn't like it much." He brightened. "Why?"

"Well, you said the main thing about any kind of literature isn't the premise. Isn't that right?"

"That's right. Any premise is acceptable. Go on."

She lifted her great, serious eyes to his. "But the development must be logical, you said. The girl was in love with a rich man, but she married the poor one because she thought it would be more romantic. I wouldn't be so silly. I'd marry the man I loved. And would you kill yourself like the rich man?"

He recoiled slightly, staring down at her lovely, affectionate face in horror. Kill himself? He couldn't. But she —

"What's wrong, Billie-willie?"

"N-nothing."

She clutched his hand desperately, while he gabbled wildly about anything that came into his mind; anything, that is, but the frightening thought that she had innocently aroused.

She had several little ways that flattered him into thinking that she regarded him as a terrifyingly strong brute, though he had always considered himself more the intellectual type. When walking, she would hold his arm muscle in an awed grasp. She would beg him to let her handle the wheel of one of the cars, and then gasp that she didn't know how he did it so well, and that she felt so much safer driving with him than with anyone else. It made him feel equal to anything, even to running Hell as an equal partner. That, he thought, was what a man needed a woman for. The question of her intellectual development would take care of itself.

He was incredibly happy — except for one upsetting thought. This he kept submerged in his subconscious as long as he could, until an accident forced it so emphatically on his mind that he could no longer ignore it.