He accepted a drink, more for the purpose of considering Peyton Morris, moodily abstracted by the table, than for itself. It seemed to Lee that the young man had actually aged since the cocktail party at his house, earlier in the evening. Peyton's mouth was hard and sullen; his brow was corrugated. “We're going home,” Lee told him; “and it seemed to me that an hour ago Claire was tired.” “She didn't tell me,” Peyton responded punctiliously; “and certainly if she's low we'll go too.” He rose promptly, and, with his outer garb, accompanied Lee Randon. His step was uncertain, and Lee put a hand under his elbow. “Liquored?” he asked casually. “Not in my brain,” Peyton Morris returned: “it seems like I could never get drunk again; but my dam' feet are all over the place. Thanks for hanging on to me: I have an idea you are going to drop me pretty quickly.” “I don't want to question you,” Randon said, “or in any way force a confidence, but, Peyton, in addition to the relationship, I am exceptionally fond of Claire; and, since helping you is practically the same thing as helping her--” “I wish to Christ I had been sunk in the North Sea,” Morris broke in bitterly. They were up the stairs and standing on the emptied floor of an intermission. Fanny, prepared to leave, was gazing about for him. “You've been an age,” she cried to Lee; “and, Peyton, Claire is at last looking for you; although she'd kill me for saying it. You had better go outside a minute, first, and clear your head.” He came very near to her, slightly swaying. “Fanny, you are a darling, but you are hard; you are hard as the Commandments.” “That is not very kind, Peyton,” she protested; “but I have some common sense.” “Haven't you any uncommon sense?” he begged. “That's what I want. A little just now might save everything.” “You must try to find out,” she informed him; “I think I have been successful with Lee; anyhow he ought to say so.” “I do,” Lee Randon asserted quickly. “Fanny is wonderful. If I'm of no use go to her.” “You don't know,” Peyton muttered; “you can have no idea.” “What in the world was he talking about?” she asked Lee in the automobile. “Peyton is in love with Mina Raff,” he admitted shortly, in a pressure of conflicting emotions. “Lee!” she exclaimed; “are you sure? Did he say so? That is simply frightful.” “I imagine it's worse than you realize.” “Do you mean--” “Nothing actual yet,” he interrupted her impatiently; “perhaps nothing you would bother about. But you'd be wrong. It's all in his thoughts--some damned spoiled ideal, and as dangerous as possible.” “Poor Claire,” she said. “Of course, that's the thing to say,” he agreed. “The man is always a criminal in such situations.” “You are not trying to defend him?” she asked quietly.