don't know anything about you, or what you've done," she said. "I only
know that the tecs--"

He laid his hand upon her fingers. She snatched them away but accepted
his warning. They were served then with their meal, and their
conversation drifted into other channels.

"Well," he continued presently, in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone, "I've
found you now, and you've got to be sensible. It's true I've had a stroke
of luck, but that might fall away at any moment. I've typing waiting for
you, or I can get you a post at the New York Theatre. You'd better first
do my typing. I'll have it in your rooms to-morrow morning by nine
o'clock. And would you like something in advance?"

"No!" she replied grudgingly. "I'll have what I've earned, when I've
earned it."

He sipped his claret and studied her meditatively.

"You're not much of a pal, are you?"

She scoffed at him, looked him up and down, at his well-fitting clothes,
his general air of prosperity.

"Pal!" she jeered. "Look at you--Merton Ware, the great dramatist, and
me--a shabby, ugly, bad-tempered, indifferent typewriter. Bad-tempered,"
she repeated. "Yes, I am that. I didn't start out to be. I just haven't
had any luck."

"It will all come some day," he assured her cheerfully.

"I think if you'd stayed different," she went on thoughtfully, "if you
hadn't slipped away into the clouds ... shows what a selfish little beast
I am! Can't imagine why you bother about me."

"Shall I tell you why, really?" he asked. "Because you saved me--I don't
know what from. The night we went out I was suffering from a loneliness
which was the worst torture I have ever felt. It was there in my throat
and dragging down my heart, and I just felt as though any way of ending
it all would be a joy. All these millions of hard-faced people, intent on
their own prosperity or their own petty troubles, goaded me, I think,
into a sort of silent fury. Just that one night I craved like a madman
for a single human being to talk to--well, I shall never forget it,
Martha--"

"Miss Grimes!" she interrupted under her breath.

He laughed.

"That doesn't really matter, does it?" he asked. "You've never been
afraid that I should want to make love to you, have you?"

She glanced round into the mirror by their side, looked at her wan face,
the shabby little hat, the none too tidily arranged hair which drooped
over her ears; down at her shapeless jacket, her patched skirt, the shoes
which were i