The scruples of the night before had vanished at the sound of her voice. He jumped into his bath and clothes with a keen thrill of expectancy. He sat in the window-seat and watched for her coming. God! What a queer world it was! He had been thinking over the possible expediency of suicide, and now life was opening up to him in thrilling vistas. He waved his hand when he caught sight of her, and pinched himself to be sure he was awake when he noticed her quicken her pace. He pretended to scold her for being slow. A dozen times he interrupted the coffee-making at critical moments to kiss her. She said it would surely be spoiled, and he swore he did not care. Yetta pretended to be in a hurry to finish the dishes and get uptown to work. It was a very meagre pretence. And what wonderful plans they made! With his arm about her they explored the two rooms in the back, which the carriage painter used as a storehouse for his brushes and cans. He would have to vacate. One they would turn into a dining-room. Yetta spoke of the other as the guest-room. But Walter christened it "the nursery." CHAPTER XXIV THE CRASH When it was time for lunch, Yetta said she would rather cook than go to a restaurant, so they raided a delicatessen store. It was during the afternoon that the first shadow fell across their dream. Yetta asked him if he had heard about Mrs. Karner's divorce. "Yes, I know." There was a queer ring in his voice which made her look up; something in his face disturbed her. "What's the matter?" He took his arms from about her and got up. "Yetta," he said, pacing the room, "I suppose I'm a fool to ask you. But how much do you want to know? Very few men in this world of ours live up to their own ideals. I certainly haven't. I told you I was getting gray. Well--she's one of the gray spots--inside. I'd rather not tell you about it. It will only hurt you. But I'm not a good liar. You noticed something at the bare mention of her name. But if you want to know, I'll tell you." For a moment Yetta was silent. "I think you'd better tell me," she said. "I'm not afraid." But she was. She had accepted the idea that Mabel had preceded her in his affection. She had not thought of other women. This was disturbing enough. But what really frightened her was that he was reluctant to tell. If there was any one tangible thing which love meant to her, it was frankness. She had told him everything without his asking. Here was something he had held back. What it was did not matter so much as the different point of view it showed. It was startling to realize how very little she knew of his life.