"Poor Bev!" he said. "We've made pretty much a mess of it, haven't we?"

He patted her and let her go, and her eyes followed him as he left the

room. The elder brotherliness of that embrace had told her the truth as

he could never have hurt her in words. She went back to the chair where

he had sat, and leaned her cheek against it.

After a time she went slowly upstairs and into her room. When her maid

came in she found her before the mirror of her dressing-table, staring

at her reflection with hard, appraising eyes.

Leslie's partner, wandering into the hotel at six o'clock, found from

the disordered condition of the room that Leslie had been back, had

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apparently bathed, shaved and made a careful toilet, and gone out again.

Joe found himself unexpectedly at a loose end. Filled, with suppressed

indignation he commenced to dress, getting out a shirt, hunting his

evening studs, and lining up what he meant to say to Leslie over his

defection.

Then, at a quarter to seven, Leslie came in, top-hatted and

morning-coated, with a yellowing gardenia in his buttonhole and his

shoes covered with dust.

"Hello, Les," Joe said, glancing up from a laborious struggle with a

stud. "Been to a wedding?"

"Why?"

"You look like it."

"I made a call, and since then I've been walking."

"Some walk, I'd say," Joe observed, looking at him shrewdly. "What's

wrong, Les? Fair one turn you down?"

"Go to hell," Leslie said irritably.

He flung off his coat and jerked at his tie. Then, with it hanging

loose, he turned to Joe.

"I'm going to tell you something. I know it's safe with you, and I need

some advice. I called on a woman this afternoon. You know who she is.

Beverly Carlysle."

Joe whistled softly.

"That's not the point," Leslie declaimed, in a truculent voice. "I'm not

defending myself. She's a friend; I've got a right to call there if I

want to."

"Sure you have," soothed Joe.

"Well, you know the situation at home, and who Livingstone actually is.

The point is that, while that poor kid at home is sitting around killing

herself with grief, Clark's gone back to her. To Beverly Carlysle."

"How do you know?"

"Know? I saw him this afternoon, at her house."

He sat still, moodily reviewing the situation. His thoughts were a

chaotic and unpleasant mixture of jealousy, fear of Nina, anxiety over

Elizabeth, and the sense of a lost romantic adventure. After a while he

got up.




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