Towards noon, Henry sent for me, and I joined him in the library, where I found him rummaging amongst the books and papers on his desk. He looked worried. There was something heavy bearing on his mind. As it turned out, there were several things that harassed him.
"What now?" I asked, a note of impatience in my voice.
"Livingston," he began, with a sudden compression of his lips, and motioning me to sit down, "will you answer a question that has been occurring to me all morning? During the time that this reporter, McGinity, and Pat were together, last night, did he show—well, any sentimental interest in her? I want to know—particularly."
"No, I'm sure he did not," I replied promptly. "I recall hearing him use such expressions as 'your delightful companionship,' 'this incredulous you,' and 'beautiful princess!'"
"What!" Henry exclaimed, with an awkward attempt to suppress an unbelieving smile; "do I understand you to say you attach no sentimental significance to such expressions?"
"Why, certainly," I answered. "I attributed his romantic talking to the after-effects of the knockout blow. At times, he appeared to be dazed."
Henry regarded me gravely for a moment, then he said: "Livingston, you are without a doubt the perfect ass!" He brought his fist down with a thud on his desk to emphasize more completely his opinion of me.
"Whatever do you mean?" I demanded.
"Listen to me," said Henry, leaning over the desk towards me. "What happened last night between Pat and this reporter is going to bring an alarming new situation in our household. Pat has become romantically interested in this young scallywag, and I feel sure he's fallen in love with her."
"You wouldn't say that unless you'd some grounds for it," I observed. "Have you?"