ail me?" Max persisted. "Really, you know,
I'm doing you an immense favour--dinner--a seat in my private box at
Sara Law's farewell performance--"

"Oh, I'm thoroughly impressed," Whitaker assured him, stepping out of
the car. "But tell me--on the level, now--why this staggering
condescension?"

Max looked him over as he paused on the sidewalk, a tall, loosely built
figure attired impeccably yet with an elusive sense of carelessness, his
head on one side and a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. The twinkle was
momentarily reflected in the managerial gaze as he replied with an air
of impulsive candour: "One never can tell when the most unlikely-looking
material may prove useful. I may want to borrow money from you before
long. If I put you under sufficient obligation to me, you can't well
refuse.... Shoot, James!"

The latter phrase was Max's way of ordering the driver to move on. The
car snorted resentfully, then pulled smoothly and swiftly away. Max
waved a jaunty farewell with a lemon-coloured hand, over the back of the
tonneau.

Whitaker went up to his room in a reflective mood in which the
theatrical man had little place, and began leisurely to prepare his
person for ceremonious clothing--preparations which, at first, consisted
in nothing more strenuous than finding a pipe and sitting down to stare
out of the window. He was in no hurry--he had still an hour and a half
before he was due at the Knickerbocker--and the afternoon's employment
had furnished him with a great deal of material to stimulate his
thoughts.

Since his arrival in New York he had fallen into the habit of seeking
the view from his window when in meditative humour. The vast sweep of
gullied roofs exerted an almost hypnotic attraction for his eyes. They
ranged southward to the point where vision failed against the false
horizon of dull amber haze. Late sunlight threw level rays athwart the
town, gilding towering westerly walls and striking fire from all their
windows. Between them like deep blue crevasses ran the gridironed
streets. The air was moveless, yet sonorously thrilled with the measured
movement of the city's symphonic roar. Above the golden haze a drift of
light cloud was burning an ever deeper pink against the vault of
robin's-egg blue.

A view of ten thousand roofs, inexpressibly enchaining....
Somewhere--perhaps--in that welter of steel and stone, as eternal and as
restless as the sea, was the woman Whitaker had married, working o