“All right: smoke on. I’m going to study. Stay till you get it all straightened out, and, when you’re ready to go, don’t forget the door is on your left. Good-night, dearie.”
Lee turned to his desk and resumed his reading of numerous pages of badly-written notes. From time to time he mumbled sentences, then shifted in his chair, then lit a new cigarette, and mumbled again. During this time Mauney sat quietly back, busy with unpleasant thoughts. He remembered that Lee had explained the hopelessness of his relationship with Freda MacDowell. He had said that, although he loved her, he would never let her know. Mauney had always admired Max. Now he respected him more than ever. He thought it was very noble of him to preserve silence regarding his love.
“I guess we’re both sort of out in the cold, Max,” he said, at length.
“I guess so,” Lee absent-mindedly agreed, as he continued to read. “Out in the cold? How do you mean?”
“With women.”
“Oh, damn women. I’m busy with oto-laryngology. Exam’s coming on to-morrow.”
Mauney rose and stretched himself.
“I’m going to bed,” he announced, tossing his package of cigarettes again on the table. “Keep ’em; you’ll need a few fags before morning.”
Mauney resumed his accustomed life next day with a feeling of gratitude that he had at least his work to occupy his mind. He put Freda MacDowell out of his consciousness—she was the property of Maxwell Lee, and nothing would ever permit him to encroach on his good friend’s property. She grew smaller as she receded in the vista of his thoughts, and he considered it fortunate that he saw nothing more of her during the term.