E caught up with her at the corner nearest Jim's--the same Sue he had
first met, here in the Village, on a curbstone, eating an apple--wearing
her old tarn o'shanter; good shoulders, no hips, well-shaped hands and
feet; odd, honest deep-green eyes.

She was a wreck from endless rehearsing she told him smilingly and
ordered a big English chop and a bigger baked potato. These were good at
Jim's. She ate them like a hungry boy.

He offered her with inner hesitation, a cigarette. She shook her head.
“Zanin won't let me,” she explained. “He says it's going to be a big
hard job, coming right on top of all the work at the Crossroads, and I
must keep fit.”

“Zanin! Zanin!...” But Peter maintained his studied calm. “I've got the
scenario in my pocket,” he announced, “I want to read it to you. And if
you don't mind I'll tell you just why I want to.”

“Of course I don't mind,” said she, with just one half-covert glance.
“Tell me.”

“Please hear me out,” said he.

Her lids did droop a little now. This was the Eric Mann whose plays she
had seen in past years and who had pounced on her so suddenly with a
crazy avowal of love.... A man she hardly knew!

He spoke quietly now and patiently; even with dignity.

“We--you and Zanin and I--are starting a serious job.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Well, I began all wrong by taking a personal attitude toward you, and
we quarreled rather absurdly...”

“We won't speak of that,” said she.

“Only to this extent: Any little personal misunderstandings--well, we've
got to be businesslike and frank.... I'll tell you. This afternoon--just
now, in fact--when I suggested to Zanin that I read it to the two of
you, he objected. In fact he told me in so many words that you disliked
me and didn't trust my understanding and that it would be necessary for
him to act as a buffer between you and me.”

“Oh,” said she quickly, “that's absurd, of course!”

“Of course. He rather insisted on taking the scenario and reading it to
you himself. Now that won't do