"I see it fascinates you."
"I've no objection to rising to the class of big men," said Tetlow. "But aren't you letting your confidence in yourself deceive you?"
"Did I ever let it deceive me?"
"No," confessed Tetlow. "I've often watched you, and thought you'd fall through it, or stumble at least. But you never did."
"And shall I tell you why? Because I use my self-confidence and my hopefulness and all my optimistic qualities only to create an atmosphere of success. But when it comes to planning a move of any kind, when I assemble my lieutenants round the council board in my brain, I never permit a single cheerful one to speak, or even to enter. It's a serious, gloomy circle of faces, Bill."
Tetlow nodded reminiscently. "Yes, you always were like that, Fred."
"And the one who does the most talking at my council is the gloomiest of all. He's Lieutenant Flawpicker. He can't see any hope for anything. He sees all the possibilities of failure. He sees all the chances against success. And what's the result? Why, when the council rises it has taken out of the plan every chance of mishap that my intelligence could foresee and it has provided not one but several safe lines of orderly retreat in case success proves impossible."
Tetlow gazed at Norman in worshipful admiration. "What a brain! What a mind!" he ejaculated. "And to think that you could be upset by a woman!"
Norman leaned back in his chair smiling broadly. "Not by a woman," he corrected. "By a girl—an inexperienced girl of twenty."
"It seems incredible."