“That’s a man’s oldest pretense, being busy all day.”
Again a brief silence; then again the strained voice, trying to be steady and indifferent:
“What is she like?”
“I tell you what,” said Mary casually, “if you really want to know, I think I can show her to you—with him. I’ve noticed them having tea together at the Biltmore several times recently. If you like we can go there for tea this afternoon—it will do us both good to get out—and in the big crowd there at tea-time we’ll never be noticed.”
“All right,” said Maisie.
“Then suppose you call for me at my apartment at four.”
It was so agreed. Mary said that she might be a few minutes late because of an errand she had to do, but that she would leave her outer door unlatched so that Maisie might come right in and wait for her, and she told Maisie she need not ring, as her bell was out of order.
Mary went away with a sense that her delicately devised plan was now under full way; and she saw, as though the event were now concluded, just how Maisie Jones would react when she, Mary, pulled the strings of human nature. On learning what she believed to be the truth, Maisie’s Puritanic soul would be so horrified that she could have nothing more to do with Jack; and further, her pride would not permit her ever to let the public know that she had been neglected for another woman, or possibly even jilted. Her pride would make her keep Jack’s secret for her own self-protection, and make her forestall the possible appearance of being jilted by herself doing the jilting first.
All that now remained, before Mary should be safe again—barring interference from Clifford—was for human nature to react according to human promptings.