"I'll leave so you may feel more free," he said, and went back into his office.
Truggles looked upon Trella Forsythe with more self-assurance. She was a pert, brown-eyed blonde, in her early twenties. Remembering Phyllis Allison, Truggles could not but admire Forsythe's appreciation of beauty.
"How long have you been married to Mr. Forsythe, Mrs.—uh, Miss Trella?" he asked.
"Only about six months," she answered. "I hope I'll prove satisfactory."
"Satisfactory?"
"I don't want to have to leave Blan after two years," she said. "I love him."
"My dear child, how can you love a man who has a dozen other wives? How can you lower yourself to be part of such a scheme?"
"Why is it that some men never understand women?" she countered, a little angrily. "A woman may be jealous of her man's other loves, but if he's a real man the thing that matters is that he loves her. I get along fine with Blan's other wives. We have something in common—we all love him."
Truggles resisted a strong temptation to attempt to convert her to sanity on the spot. His powers of convincing women were potent ones, as experience had proved. But, in this case, the root of the evil was Forsythe himself and there was no point in wasting any time on the wives.
Truggles had expected Forsythe to conduct him on a tour of what he already had labeled, in his mind, "the harem." But Forsythe remained closeted in his office, and it was Trella who escorted Truggles through a portion of the building.