When Geary finally became silent, the two looked into the fire for some time without speaking. At last Geary said:
"You came home early to-night, didn't you?"
"Yes," answered Vandover, stirring uneasily. "Yes, I did."
There was another silence. Then Geary said abruptly: "It's too bad. They are kind of stinky-pinky to you."
"Yes," said Vandover with a grin. "I don't know what's the matter. Everybody seems nasty!"
"It's that business with Ida Wade, you know," replied Geary. "It got around somehow that she killed herself on your account. Everybody seems to be on to it. I heard it—oh, nearly a month ago."
"Oh," said Vandover with a short laugh, "that's it, is it? I was wondering."
"Yes, that's it," answered Geary. "You see they don't know for sure; no one knows, but all at once every one seemed to be talking about it, and they suspect an awful lot. I guess they are pretty near right, aren't they?" He did not wait for an answer, but laughed clumsily and went on: "You see, you always have to be awfully careful in those things, or you'll get into a box. Ah, you bet I don't let any girl I go with know my last name or my address if I can help it. I'm clever enough for that; you have to manage very carefully; ah, you bet! You ought to have looked out for that, old man!" He paused a moment and then went on: "Oh, I guess it will be all right, all right, in a little while. They will forget about it, you know. I wouldn't worry. I guess it will be all right."
"Yes," answered Vandover absently, "I guess so—perhaps."
A few days later Vandover was in the reading-room of the Mechanics Library, listlessly turning over the pages of a volume of l'Art. It was Saturday morning and the place was full of ladies who were downtown for their shopping and marketing, and who had come in either to change their books or to keep appointments with each other. On a sudden Vandover saw Turner just passing into the Biography alcove. He got up and followed her. She was standing at the end of the dim book-lined tunnel, searching the upper shelves, her head and throat bent back, and her gloved finger on her lip. The faint odour of the perfume she always affected came to him mingled with the fragrance of the jonquils at her belt and the smell of leather and of books that exhaled from the shelves on either side. He did not offer to take her hand, but came up slowly, speaking in a low voice.