was somewhat to the effect that he could have done a better piece
of work with his eyes shut and his hands tied behind his back;
and that if it were not for the wealth of material to work on
he'd pack up and go home. Which brought him back to Harmony and
his new responsibility. He took off the necktie he had absently
put on and hunted out a better one.

He was late at supper--an offense that brought a scowl from the
head of the table, a scowl that he met with a cheerful smile.
Harmony was already in her place. Seated between a little
Bulgarian and a Jewish student from Galicia, she was almost
immediately struggling in a sea of language, into which she
struck out now and then tentatively, only to be again submerged.
Byrne had bowed to her conventionally, even coldly, aware of the
sharp eyes and tongues round the table, but Harmony did not
understand. She had expected moral support from his presence, and
failing that she sank back into the loneliness and depression of
the day. Her bright color faded; her eyes looked tragic and
rather aloof. She ate almost nothing, and left the table before
the others had finished.

What curious little dramas of the table are played under unseeing
eyes! What small tragedies begin with the soup and end with
dessert! What heartaches with a salad! Small tragedies of averted
eyes, looking away from appealing ones; lips that tremble with
wretchedness nibbling daintily at a morsel; smiles that sear;
foolish bits of talk that mean nothing except to one, and to that
one everything! Harmony, freezing at Peter's formal bow and
gazing obstinately ahead during the rest of the meal, or no
nearer Peter than the red-paper roses, and Peter, showering the