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discovered with a start that it was after two.

      “Give me some bacon and eggs[20] and coffee, please.”

      The waitress hurried away.

      God! Gloria’s kisses had been such flowers. Misery struck at him again. He had lost her. It was true – no denying it, no softening it. Anthony was in love, profoundly and truly in love.

      Wisdom

      Anthony was in love – he cried it passionately to himself. If he did not marry her his life would be a feeble parody on his own adolescence. To be able to face people and to endure the constant reminder of Gloria that all existence had become, it was necessary for him to have hope. So he built hope desperately and tenaciously. Out of this developed a spark of wisdom.

      “Memory is short,” he thought.

      Anthony had seen Gloria altogether about a dozen times, say two dozen hours. Supposing he left her alone for a month, made no attempt to see her or speak to her, and avoided every place where she might possibly be. Wasn’t it possible that at the end of that time the rush of events would efface his personality from her conscious mind, and with his personality his offense and humiliation? She would forget, for there would be other men. He winced. Other men! Two months – God! Better three weeks, two weeks…

      Two weeks – that was worse than no time at all. No, two weeks was too short a time. He must give her a period when the incident should fade, and then a new period when she should gradually begin to think of him, no matter how dimly.

      He fixed, finally, on six weeks as approximately the interval best suited to his purpose, and on a desk calendar he marked the days off, finding that it would fall on the ninth of April. Very well, on that day he would phone and ask her if he might call. Until then – silence.

      In another hour he fell into a deep sleep.

      Nevertheless, though, as the days passed, the glory of her hair dimmed perceptibly for him and in a year of separation might have departed completely. He didn’t want to see Dick and Maury, imagining that they knew all – but when they met it was Richard Caramel and not Anthony who was the centre of attention. “The Demon Lover” had been accepted for immediate publication. Anthony felt that from now on he moved apart. He needed no more Maury’s society. Only Gloria could give him everything and no one else ever again. So Dick’s success rejoiced him and worried him. It meant that the world was going ahead – writing and reading and publishing – and living. And he wanted the world to wait motionless and breathless for six weeks – while Gloria forgot.

      Two Encounters

      His greatest satisfaction was in Geraldine’s company. He took her once to dinner and the theatre and entertained her several times in his apartment. When he was with her she absorbed him. It didn’t matter how he kissed Geraldine. A kiss was a kiss. A kiss was one thing, anything further was quite another; a kiss was all right; the other things were “bad.”

      One day he saw Gloria. It was a short meeting. Both bowed. Both spoke, yet neither heard the other.

      Once he went around the corner one morning to be shaved, and while waiting his turn he took off coat and vest, and stood near the front of the shop. Two strollers caught his eye casually, a man and a girl – then the girl resolved herself into Gloria. He stood here powerless; they came nearer and Gloria, glancing in, saw him. Her eyes widened and she smiled politely. Her lips moved. She was less than five feet away.

      “How do you do?” he muttered.

      Gloria, happy, beautiful, and young – with a man he had never seen before!

      The second incident took place the next day. Going into the Manhattan bar about seven he met Bloeckman[21]. Bloeckman was a movie producer who was a friend of Gloria’s family.

      “Hello, Mr. Patch,” said Bloeckman amiably enough. “Do you come in here much?”

      “No, very seldom.” He omitted to add that the Plaza bar had, until lately, been his favorite.

      “Nice bar. One of the best bars in town.”

      Anthony nodded. Bloeckman emptied his glass and picked up his cane. He was in evening dress.

      “Well, I’ll be hurrying on. I’m going to dinner with Miss Gilbert.”

      It was a vital blow at Anthony. With tremendous effort he mustered a rigid smile, and said a conventional good-bye. But that night he lay awake until after four, wild with grief and fear.

      And one day in the fifth week he called her up. With suddenly quickened breath he walked to the telephone. Mrs. Gilbert’s voice said,

      “Hello-o-ah? Miss Gloria’s not feeling well. She’s lying down, asleep. Who shall I say called?”

      “Nobody!” he shouted.

      In a wild panic he slammed down the receiver.

      Serenade

      The first thing he said to her was: “Why, you’ve cut your hair!” and she answered: “Yes, isn’t it gorgeous?”

      It was not fashionable then. At that time it was considered extremely daring.

      “It’s a sunny day,” he said gravely. “Don’t you want to take a walk?”

      She put on a light coat and they walked along the Avenue and into the Zoo, where they admired the grandeur of the elephant and the giraffe, but did not visit the monkey house because Gloria said that monkeys smelt so bad.

      Then they returned toward the Plaza, talking about nothing, but glad for the spring. Gloria walked ahead of him.

      “Oh!” she cried, “I want to go south! I want to get out in the air and just roll around on the new grass and forget there’s ever been any winter.”

      “Don’t you, though!”

      “I want to hear a million robins. I like birds.”

      “All women are birds,” he ventured.

      “What kind am I?”

      “A swallow, I think, and sometimes a bird of paradise. Most girls are sparrows, of course. And of course you’ve met canary girls – and robin girls.”

      “And swan girls and parrot girls. All grown women are hawks, I think, or owls.”

      “What am I – a buzzard?”

      She laughed and shook her head.

      “Oh, no, you’re not a bird at all. You’re a Russian wolfhound. Dick’s a fox terrier, a trick fox terrier,” she continued.

      “And Maury’s a cat.”

      Later, as they parted, Anthony asked when he might see her again. She thought for a moment. “Maybe next Sunday.”

      “All right.”

      And when the day came they sat upon the lounge. After a while Anthony kissed her. And he had told her gently, almost in the middle of a kiss, that he loved her, and she had smiled and held him closer and murmured, “I’m glad,” looking into his eyes.

      He had felt nearer to her than ever before. In a rare delight he cried aloud to the room that he loved her.

      He phoned next morning:

      “Good morning, Gloria.”

      “Good morning.”

      “I just called to say that.”

      “I’m glad you did.”

      “I wish I could see you.”

      “You will, tomorrow night.”

      “That’s a long time, isn’t it?”

      “Yes.” Her voice was reluctant.

      “Couldn’t I come tonight?”

      “I have a date.”

      “Oh.”

      “But

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