Fright
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He was twenty-five that year, 1915, and his name was Prescott Marshall. He had already been living in New York for three years, and for one of those, now, he had known Marjorie Worth. And for a good part of that one, now, he had loved her. He worked in a stock brokerage office at Number Two, Wall Street, and he didn’t make very much money. But he was young, he presented a good appearance, he had a certain indefinable appeal for wealthy elderly ladies who were clients of his firm, and that would take care of itself in due course. The fact that he didn’t make very much money as yet.
He had obtained the position through a girl he had known the first year he was in New York. She had spoken of the opening, she had told him whom to see, she had spoken to whom he was to see before he did. She was gone from his life now, but the position remained. Providing a rather illuminating commentary on the relative staying powers of physical attraction as against self-advancement in the average life.