ds!”

While he was thus indulging his emotions, the curtain went up on Zanin's
little play.

He stood there near the door, trying to listen. He was too excited to
sit down. Turbulent emotions were rioting within him, making consecutive
thought impossible. He caught bits of Zanin's rough dialogue. He saw Sue
make her entrance, heard the shout of delighted approval that greeted
her, the prolonged applause, the cries of “Bully for you, Sue!”...
“You're all right, Sue!”

Then Peter plunged out the door and walked feverishly about the Village
streets. He stopped at a saloon and had a drink.

But the Crossroads Theater fascinated him. He drifted back there and
looked in. The first play was over. Hy was in a dim corner of the lobby,
talking confidentially with Betty Deane.

Then Sue came out with the Worm, of all persons, at her elbow. So _he_
had managed to meet her, too? She wore her street dress and looked
amazingly calm.

Peter dodged around the corner. “The way to get on with women,” he
reflected savagely, “is to have no feelings, no capacity for emotion, be
perfectly cold blooded!”

He walked up to Fourteenth Street and dropped aimlessly into a
moving-picture show.

Toward eleven he went back to Tenth Street. He even ran a little,
breathlessly, for fear he might be too late, too late for what, he did
not know.

But he was not. Glancing in at the door, he saw Sue, with Betty, Hy, the
Worm, Zanin and a few others.

Hurriedly, on an impulse, he found an envelope in his pocket, tore off
the back, and scribbled, in pencil--

“May I walk back with you? I want vary much to talk with you. If you
could slip away from these people.”

He went in then, grave and dignified, bowing rather stiffly. Sue
appeared not to see him.

He moved to her side and spoke low. She did not reply.

The blood came rushing to Peter's face. Anger stirred. He slipped the
folded envelope into her hand. It was some satisfaction that she had
either to take it or let them all see it drop. She took it; but
Still ignored him. Her in