The more the "cage man" schemed to keep his wife from finding out the deception he'd practiced on her, the more possibilities of exposure developed, and the more apprehensive he became.
No sooner did Honey promise not to bother Mr. Waldron than another danger popped up. By Jingo! There was Mrs. McLaughlin! Honey might again mention to her something about his raise, reiterate what she had hinted at on the night of the First Presbyterian reception. No doubt, if she did, Mrs. McLaughlin would quiz her this time, find out what she was driving at, and report it to McLaughlin and make him, Skinner, a laughing-stock in the eyes of the boss. Then, by a series of recoils, McLaughlin would deny it to his wife, Mrs. McLaughlin would deny it to Honey, and there'd be the devil to pay. And paying the devil, in this particular instance, Skinner apprehended, would be a hard proposition.
Instigated by this fear, ever since the night of the First Presbyterian affair Skinner had schemed to keep Mrs. McLaughlin and Honey apart. It was easy enough at first, when they were only invited to a few affairs, but with the enlargement of their social horizon the danger loomed bigger.
Skinner knew enough about women not to warn Honey against talking confidentially with Mrs. McLaughlin, since this would excite her suspicions and recoil upon him, Skinner, with a shower of inconvenient questions. The only thing he could do, then, was to see to it that he and Honey should avoid places where the McLaughlins were liable to be. Skinner had been put to all sorts of devices to find out if the McLaughlins were going to certain parties to which he and Honey had been invited. He could n't do this very well by discussing the thing with the boss. So he had endeavored to determine the exact social status of the McLaughlins in that community and avoid the stratum in which they might circulate.
But this rule had failed him once or twice, for in communities of the description of Meadeville social life was more or less democratic and nondescript. When he had thought himself secure on certain occasions, he had bumped right into the McLaughlins and then it behooved him to stick pretty close to Honey all the evening.
This was not what he counted on, for Skinner was beginning to enjoy the sweets of broader social intercourse. He was beginning to like to talk with and dance with other women.
At times, when Skinner had received information at the last moment that the McLaughlins were to be at a party, he had affected a headache. On one of these occasions, Honey had set her heart on going and told Skinner that the Lewises had offered to take her along with them in case he should be delayed at the office—for Skinner had even pretended once or twice to be thus delayed. Presto! at Honey's words about the Lewises, Dearie's headache had disappeared.
Skinner thought with a humorous chuckle how Honey had said, "Dearie, I believe you're jealous of Tom Lewis."
"Perhaps I am," the miserable Skinner had admitted.
Skinner pictured the effect of exposure in all sorts of dramatic ways. But not once did he see himself suffering—only Honey. That's what worried him. He could bear pain without flinching, but he could not bear seeing other persons bear pain—particularly Honey. He knew he could throw himself on her mercy and confess and that she would forgive him because she'd know he did it on her account. But the hurt, the real hurt, would be hers to bear—and Skinner loved Honey.