know. Let's talk of you instead, Nelson. I'm glad you're in
such good spirits. I rather thought--"

He interrupted her quickly. "Thought I'd cut up a rumpus-do some
shooting? I know--people did." He twisted his moustache, evidently proud
of his reputation. "Well, maybe I did see red for a day or two--but I'm
a philosopher, first and last. Before I went into banking I'd made and
lost two fortunes out West. Well, how did I build 'em up again? Not by
shooting anybody even myself. By just buckling to, and beginning all
over again. That's how... and that's what I am doing now. Beginning all
over again." His voice dropped from boastfulness to a note of wistful
melancholy, the look of strained jauntiness fell from his face like a
mask, and for an instant she saw the real man, old, ruined, lonely. Yes,
that was it: he was lonely, desperately lonely, foundering in such deep
seas of solitude that any presence out of the past was like a spar to
which he clung. Whatever he knew or guessed of the part she had played
in his disaster, it was not callousness that had made him greet her with
such forgiving warmth, but the same sense of smallness, insignificance
and isolation which perpetually hung like a cold fog on her own horizon.
Suddenly she too felt old--old and unspeakably tired.

"It's been nice seeing you, Nelson. But now I must be getting home."

He offered no objection, but asked for the bill, resumed his jaunty air
while he scattered largesse among the waiters, and sauntered out behind
her after calling for a taxi.

They drove off in silence. Susy was thinking: "And Clarissa?" but dared
not ask. Vanderlyn lit a cigarette, hummed a dance-tune, and stared out
of the window. Suddenly she felt his hand on hers.

"Susy--do you ever see her?"

"See--Ellie?"

He nodded, without turning toward her.

"Not often... sometimes...."

"If you do, for God's sake tell her I'm happy... happy as a king...
tell her you could see for yourself that I was...." His voice broke in
a little gasp. "I... I'll be damned if... if she shall ever be unhappy
about me... if I can help it...." The cigarette dropped from his
fingers, and with a sob he covered his face.

"Oh, poor Nelson--poor Nelson," Susy breathed. While their cab rattled
across the Place du Carrousel, and over the bridge, he continued to
sit beside her with hidden face. At last he pulled out a scented
handkerchief, rubbed his eyes with it, and groped for another cigarette.

"I'