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Anthony walked down the tenth-floor corridor of the Plaza that night, his dark eyes were gleaming. He knocked and entered. Gloria, dressed in pink, was across the room, standing very still, and looking at him. As he closed the door behind him she gave a little cry and moved.

      Book Two

      Chapter I

      The Radiant Hour

      After a fortnight Anthony and Gloria began talk about marriage.

      “Tell me all the reasons why you’re going to marry me in June,” said Anthony.

      “Well, because you’re so clean, like I am. There are two sorts, you know. One’s like Dick: he’s clean like polished pans. You and I are clean like streams and winds. I can tell whenever I see a person whether he is clean, and if so, which kind of clean he is.”

      “We’re twins.”

      “Mother says” – she hesitated uncertainly – “mother says that two souls are sometimes created together and – and in love before they’re born.”

      He lifted up his head and laughed soundlessly toward the ceiling. When his eyes came back to her he saw that she was angry.

      “Why did you laugh?” she cried, “you’ve done that twice before. There’s nothing funny about our relation to each other.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “Oh, don’t say you’re sorry! If you can’t think of anything better than that, just keep quiet!”

      “I love you.”

      “I don’t care.”

      There was a pause. Anthony was depressed. At length Gloria murmured:

      “I’m sorry I was rude.”

      “You weren’t. I was the one.”

      Peace was restored: the passion of their pretense created the actuality. But Anthony felt often like a scarcely tolerated guest at a party she was giving.

      Mrs. Gilbert must have known everything – for three weeks Gloria had seen no one else – and she must have noticed that this time there was a difference in her daughter’s attitude. So she declared herself immensely pleased; she doubtless was.

      But between kisses Anthony and this golden girl quarrelled incessantly.

      “Now, Gloria,” he would cry, “please let me explain!”

      “Don’t explain. Kiss me.”

      “I don’t think that’s right. If I hurt your feelings we ought to discuss it. I don’t like this kiss-and-forget.”

      “But I don’t want to argue. I think it’s wonderful that we can kiss and forget, and when we can’t it’ll be time to argue.”

      Meanwhile they knew each other, unwillingly, by curious reactions, by distastes and prejudices. The girl was proudly incapable of jealousy and, because he was extremely jealous, this virtue piqued him.

      “Oh, Anthony,” she would say, “always when I’m mean to you I’m sorry afterward.”

      Yet Anthony knew that there were days when they hurt each other purposely.

      “Why do you like Muriel?” he demanded one day.

      “I don’t very much.”

      “Then why do you go with her?”

      “Just for some one to go with. But I rather like Rachael. I think she’s cute – and so clean and slick. I used to have other friends – in Kansas City and at school – casual, all of them. Now they’re mostly married. What does it matter – they were all just people.”

      “You like men better, don’t you?”

      “Oh, much better. I’ve got a man’s mind.”

      “You’ve got a mind like mine.”

      Later she told him about the beginnings of her friendship with Bloeckman. One day Gloria and Rachael had come upon Bloeckman. She had liked him. He was a relief from younger men. He humored her and he laughed, whether he understood her or not. She met him several times, despite the disapproval of her parents, and within a month he had asked her to marry him, promising her everything from a villa in Italy to a brilliant career on the screen. She had laughed in his face – and he had laughed too.

      She told Bloeckman about the engagement. It was a heavy blow. Gloria had been sorry for him but she had decided not to show it. And Anthony forgot Bloeckman entirely.

      Three Digressions

      Just before the engagement was announced Anthony had gone up to Tarrytown to see his grandfather, who greeted the news with profound cynicism.

      “Oh, you’re going to get married, are you?”

      He said this with such a dubious mildness and shook his head up and down so many times that Anthony was depressed. While he was unaware of his grandfather’s intentions he presumed that a large part of the money would come to him. “Are you going to work?”

      “Why,” said Anthony, somewhat disconcerted. “I am working. You know…”

      “Ah, I mean real work,” said Adam Patch dispassionately.

      “I’m not quite sure yet what I’ll do. I’m not exactly a beggar,” he asserted.

      The old man almost apologetically asked:

      “How much do you save a year?”

      “Nothing.”

      “And you’ve decided that by some miracle two of you can get along on it.”

      “Gloria has some money of her own. Enough to buy clothes.”

      “How much?”

      “About a hundred a month.”

      “That’s altogether about seventy-five hundred a year.” Then he added softly: “Not bad.”

      “I suppose it is. I can manage very well. You are convinced that I’m worthless. I came up here simply to tell you that I’m getting married in June. Good-bye, sir.” With this he turned away and headed for the door.

      “Wait!” called Adam Patch, “I want to talk to you.”

      “Well, sir?”

      “Sit down.”

      “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m going to see Gloria tonight.”

      “What’s her name?”

      “Gloria Gilbert.”

      “New York girl? Someone you know?”

      “She’s from the Middle West.”

      “What does her father do?”

      “He is in a celluloid corporation or trust or something. They’re from Kansas City.”

      “You going to be married out there?”

      “Why, no, sir. We thought we’d be married in New York – rather quietly.”

      “What about wedding here?”

      Anthony hesitated. He was touched.

      “That’s very kind of you, grandpa, but wouldn’t it be a lot of trouble?”

      “Everything’s a lot of trouble.”

      “Well, I’ll speak to Gloria about it. Personally I’d like to, but of course it’s up to the Gilberts, you see.”

      His grandfather drew a long sigh, half closed his eyes, and sank back in his chair.

      “In a hurry?”

      “Not especially.”

      “I began thinking,” said Adam Patch, “and it seemed to me that you ought to be steadier, more industrious…Well, good-bye,” added his grandfather suddenly, “you’ll miss your train.”

      Richard

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