Ellen moved away from him for fear, if she stayed close, she must touch him; or without actual contact, she might show, even without another look at him, the heat of her heart. She slipped into her seat before her typewriter and spread her notebook open, but her fingers were useless at the keys.
"Lew Alban appreciates parties," Jay said.
"Yes; he's been to some of the Slengels'."
"How do you know?"
She jumped, it was so personal to her. She, how did she know?
"Lew told you?" asked Jay, without waiting for her answer.
"Di told me," said Ellen. "Diana Dewitt. I room with her."
"I remember," he said. "She works for Slengels."
"They gave her a party job. I told you. She's the one who beat you. You—you know how you were beaten, I suppose?" asked Ellen with her face burning.
"I know how they got Sam," replied Jay. "We weren't competing on him; we were specializing on Phil."
By we, he might mean the firm but he meant, Ellen knew, his wife and himself.
"Lew will be the only one to compete for on the Alban account, soon," said Ellen.
"I wish to God we could give him the gate!"
"No you don't," denied Ellen and saw the slow, deeper flush of shame underflow the redness of his excitement. "Do you?" she asked him, in her suddenly gentle, sweet way.
"Not if you say I don't," he acknowledged this.
