"She'll not hear."
"You can't be sure."
"I want you to help me out. I'm going to tell her I'm tremendously busy these few next days—or weeks."
"Weeks!" Ursula Fitzhugh laughed. "My, it must be serious!"
"Weeks," repeated her brother. "And I want you to say things that'll help out—and to see a good deal of her." He flung down his cigar. "You women don't understand how it is with a man."
"Don't we though! Why, it's a very ordinary occurrence for a woman to be really in love with several men at once."
His eyes gleamed jealously. "I don't believe it," he cried.
"Not Josephine," she said reassuringly. "She's one of those single-hearted, untemperamental women. They concentrate. They have no imagination."
"I wasn't thinking of Josephine," said he sullenly. "To go back to what I was saying, I am in love with Josephine and with no one else. I can't explain to you how or why I'm entangled. But I'll get myself untangled all right—and very shortly."
"I know that, Fred. You aren't the permanent damn-fool sort."