“What do you care?
In the long run they’re bound to respect a man who makes them think, and with your reputation for oratory you—”
“What do you know about my reputation for oratory?”
“Oh, I’m not going to tell you everything I know!
But seriously, you don’t realize what a famous man you are.”
“Well—Though I haven’t done much orating this fall.
Too kind of bothered by this Paul Riesling business, I guess.
But—Do you know, you’re the first person that’s really understood what I was getting at, Tanis—Listen to me, will you!
Fat nerve I’ve got, calling you Tanis!”
“Oh, do!
And shall I call you George?
Don’t you think it’s awfully nice when two people have so much—what shall I 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. Tanis Judique to-night.
But I suppose you probably have seven dates already.”
“Well, I was thinking some of going to the movies.
Yes, I really think I ought to get out and get some fresh air.”
She did not encourage him to stay, but never did she discourage him.
He considered,
“I better take a sneak!
She WILL let me stay—there IS something doing—and I mustn’t get mixed up with—I mustn’t—I’ve got to beat it.”
Then,
“No. it’s too late now.”