"No. Why should he? Did you discuss that
with him?"
"Indeed not! I wouldn't discuss that particular editorial with any one
but you."
He moved uneasily. "Aren't you attaching undue importance to a very
trivial subject? You know that was half a joke, anyway."
"Was it?" she murmured. "Probably I take it too seriously. But--but
Harvey Wheelwright came into one of our early talks, almost our first
about real things. When I began to discover you; when 'The Voices' first
sang to us. And he wasn't one of the Voices, exactly, was he?"
"He? He's a bray! But neither was Sears-Roebuck one of the Voices. Yet
you liked my editorial on that."
"I adored it! You believed what you were writing. So you made it
beautiful."
"Nothing could make Harvey Wheelwright beautiful. But, at least, you'll
admit I made him--well, appetizing." His face took on a shade. "Love's
labor lost, too," he added. "We never did run the Wheelwright serial,
you know."
"Why?"
"Because the infernal idiot had to go and divorce a perfectly
respectable, if plain and middle-aged wife, in order to marry a quite
scandalous Chicago society flapper."
"What connection has that with the serial?"
"Don't you see? Wheelwright is the arch-deacon of the eternal
proprieties and pieties.
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