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.