call it?--so much analysis
that they can discard all these stupid conventions and understand each
other and become acquainted right away, like ships that pass in the
night?"

"I certainly do! I certainly do!"

He was no longer quiescent in his chair; he wandered about the room, he
dropped on the couch beside her. But as he awkwardly stretched his hand
toward her fragile, immaculate fingers, she said brightly, "Do give me
a cigarette. Would you think poor Tanis was dreadfully naughty if she
smoked?"

"Lord, no! I like it!"

He had often and weightily pondered flappers smoking in Zenith
restaurants, but he knew only one woman who smoked--Mrs. Sam Doppelbrau,
his flighty neighbor. He ceremoniously lighted Tanis's cigarette, looked
for a place to deposit the burnt match, and dropped it into his pocket.

"I'm sure you want a cigar, you poor man!" she crooned.

"Do you mind one?"

"Oh, no! I love the smell of a good cigar; so nice and--so nice and like
a man. You'll find an ash-tray in my bedroom, on the table beside the
bed, if you don't mind getting it."

He was embarrassed by her bedroom: the broad couch with a cover of
violet silk, mauve curtains striped with gold. Chinese Chippendale
bureau, and an amazing row of slippers, with ribbon-wound shoe-trees,
and primrose stockings lying across them. His manner of bringing the
ash-tray had just the right note of easy friendliness, he felt. "A boob
like Verg Gunch would try to get funny about seeing her bedroom, but
I take it casually." He was not casual afterward. The contentment of
companionship was gone, and he was restless with desire to touch her
hand. But whenever he turned toward her, the cigarette was in his way.
It was a shield between them. He waited till she should have finished,
but as he rejoiced at her quick crushing of its light on the ashtray she
said, "Don't you want to give me another cigarette?" and hopelessly he
saw the screen of pale smoke and her graceful tilted hand again between
them. He was not merely curious now to find out whether she would
let him hold her hand (all in the purest friendship, naturally), but
agonized with need of it.

On the surface appeared none of all this fretful drama. They were
talking cheerfully of motors, of trips to California, of Chum Frink.
Once he said delicately, "I do hate these guys--I hate these people that
invite themselves to meals, but I seem to have a feeling I'm going to
have supper with the lovely Mrs.