Beryl shrugged, a small, disdainful gesture. Westervelt wondered why he had allowed himself to get into an argument over the matter, since it was obvious that he was making things worse with every word. "I don't know why you should be so sore about it," he said. "Even Pete said to me I should forget about it." "Oh, you two have been talking it over!" Beryl accused. "Pretty clubby! Do you take over for him on other things too?" Westervelt threw up his hands. "You don't seem to mind anything about it except that I should know you were in there with him," he retorted. "If he was so acceptable, why am I a disease? Nobody ever left this office on account of me!" "It could happen yet," said Beryl. "Oh, hell! The trouble with you is you need a little loosening up." He grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her toward him. Slipping his left arm behind her back as she tried to kick his ankle, he kissed her. The result was spoiled by Beryl's turning her face away at the crucial instant. Westervelt drew back. The next thing he knew, lights exploded before his right eye. He had not even seen her hand come up, or he would have ducked. He saw it as he stepped back, however. Despite a certain feminine delicacy, the hand clenched into a very capable little fist. Beryl took one quick stride into the library. "I don't like to keep hinting around," she said, "but maybe that will play itself back in your little mind." She slammed the door three inches from his nose. Westervelt raised a hand to open it, then changed his mind and felt gingerly of his eye. It hurt, but with a sort of surrounding numbness. Realizing that he could see after all, he looked up and down the corridor guiltily. It seemed very quiet. _Right square in the peeper!_ he thought ruefully. _She couldn't have aimed that well: it must have been a lucky shot. I ought to go in there and belt her!_ It was not something he really wanted to do. He could not foresee any pleasure or satisfaction in carrying matters to the extent of open war. _You lost again, Willie_, he argued. _You might as well take it like a man. She got annoyed at something you said, like as not, and it was too late when you began._ He prodded gently at his eye again, and decided that the numb sensation was being caused by the tightening of skin over a growing mouse. He set off up the corridor, passed the main door with his face averted, and hurried down to the washroom before someone should come along. Spying out the land through a cautiously opened door, he discovered the place unoccupied. In the mirror, the eye showed definite signs of blossoming. The eyebrow was all right, but the orb itself was bloodshot and tearing freely. Beneath it, the flesh above the cheekbone was pink and puffy. "Ohmigod!" breathed Westervelt. "It'll be blue tomorrow! Probably purple and green, in fact. Or does it take a day or two to reach that stage?"