Miss Prim, who had begun to feel a fizzing excitement at the idea of solving this old-fashioned detective mystery, assured her that it sounded good, wonderfully good.
The first name that came to Miss Prim’s mind was that of her former employer, Augusto Oliver. Though her initial reaction was a shudder, she was forced to concede that if this was all about applying a scientific method of investigation, she couldn’t make a list of possible husbands without including him. Had he ever wanted to marry her? Miss Prim maintained that he had not. Augusto Oliver was the kind of man who enjoyed making promises he had no intention of keeping. For three long years he had claimed to be sympathetic to his employee’s wish for more reasonable working hours—Miss Prim worked from ten till ten—and had promised again and again to do all he could to change them. But it became apparent that this was the last thing on his mind. Mr. Oliver liked to be alone with his most efficient employee at the end of their working day. He would emerge from his office and come to stand behind her, pretending to read over her shoulder. Sometimes, when he’d been at a business lunch and had had a little too much to drink, he’d come right up close and lean over so that he was almost whispering in her ear, making Miss Prim recoil. He was an attractive man, or at least he would have been if his manner had not been so overbearing.
Very soon, what had begun as a minor nuisance, the kind any female employee experiences when her boss is attracted to her, ended up becoming untenable. Compliments were followed by invitations on dates, and invitations on dates—always politely refused—eventually led to tensions between them. Would things have been different if she had ever agreed to go out with him? It was difficult to say. Would employer and employee have married if Miss Prim had replied in the affirmative to the ridiculous proposal he made her on the day she announced she was leaving?
“So was the swine really in love with you?” asked the mother of the Man in the Wing Chair, who had listened attentively to the librarian’s musings as they unpacked Christmas decorations from large white cardboard boxes.
“Of course not. It was his hunting instinct, the kind that makes a cat toy with a mouse, even if it isn’t hungry. No, I don’t think he wanted to marry me. He just wanted to win the chase, that’s all.”
Thoughtfully, the Man in the Wing Chair’s mother unrolled a bright crimson velvet ribbon.
“Was he attractive?”
“I suppose so.”
“Intelligent?”
“Not especially.” Miss Prim thought fleetingly of the Man in the Wing Chair.
“Honest?”
“Just enough.”
“Amusing?”
“In his own way.”
“And in yours?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Did he have money?”
“Lots.”
“Then you can cross him off,” said the old lady firmly. “A man who’s not completely honest can keep within the bounds of decency if he’s lucky enough to be unattractive and of slender means. But add money and good looks, and the road to ruin is clearly signposted.”
The librarian nodded and scored through the first name on the list.
“Come, my dear, let’s not waste time. Who’s next?”
The next one, Miss Prim explained nostalgically, had been her great love for several years, the first man she had fallen in love with and the first to have loved her. At the time, he was just a quiet young teacher, devoted to Husserl, amateur fencing, and the instruction of German.
“I don’t recommend this one. I know the type. Do you really think you could feel fond of him again?” asked the Man in the Wing Chair’s mother scornfully.
Miss Prim was sure she couldn’t, though she had to admit she’d wondered about him more than once.
“Why did it end?” asked the old lady.
“I suppose because what we felt for each other wasn’t love,” replied the librarian, weighing a Christmas star in her hand.
“And how do you know that?”
“Because I thought more of my own well-being than of his. And I think he, in his way, did the same.”
“Such altruism! You’re starting to sound like my son,” said the old lady sardonically.
Miss Prim blushed but did not reply.
