He closed his eyes and sighed. Like himself, the world was full of people who lived on. Things ended for them and nobody could tell the difference, not even themselves. Being happy--what the devil was that? Happiness--unhappiness--you slept as soundly and ate as heartily. "I'm a little tired to-night." An excuse for something. He was afraid. He reached over to the small table near the bed and secured a cigarette. Lighting it, he lay on his back, blowing smoke carefully into the dark and watching the tobacco glow under his nose. "Damn good thing I'm not an author. End up as a cross between Maeterlinck and Laura Jean. One could write a volume on a cigarette glowing in the dark." He puffed until the tobacco was almost ended. He placed the still-kindled stub on the table and sighed: "Yes, that's me. Life has had its lips to me blowing smoke and fire out of me. And now a table top on which to glow reminiscently for a moment. And cool into ashes. Apologies to Laura Jean, Marie Corelli--and God." CHAPTER V Rachel, removing her heavy coat, walked briskly to the grate fire burning in the rear of the studio. She stood looking into the flames and rubbing the cold out of her hands. "Well, I kept the appointment, Frank." Brander, the artist, sprawled on a cushion-littered couch, sat up slowly. His heavy eyes regarded her. "We had quite a talk. You know his wife has remarried." "That so?" Rachel laughed. "Mr. Dorn sends you his regards." "That'll be enough." "I must say he's much cleverer than you, Frank." "What did you talk about? Soul stuff, eh?" "Oh, not entirely." She came over to the couch and patted his cheeks. "My hands--feel how cold they are." "Never mind your hands. What did our good friend have to say for himself?" "Oh, talk." Her dark eyes glanced enigmatically from his stare. Brander swore. "I want to know, d'you hear?" "Dear me! Soulmate bares all." She laughed and walked with a sensual swing down the long room. Brander, without stirring, repeated, "Yes, everything." Rachel's face sobered. "Why, there's nothing Frank--of interest." "Hell, I've caught you crying over him." "Well, what of that? A woman's tears, you know, a woman's tears, don't mean anything." "They don't, eh?" "No." The sight of him hunched amid the cushions seemed to appeal to her humor. A large, strong monkey face against blue, green, and yellow pillow faces. She laughed. "Well, I'll tell you something. There's going to be no soul stuff in this. You're mine. And if you start any flapdoodle hand-holding with our good friend, I'll knock your heads together into a pulp." He raised his large shoulders and glowered majestically. Rachel, paused beside a canvas, regarded him with half-closed eyes and smiling lips. "He sent his kindest wishes to you." Brander left his seat and strode toward her. "That's enough."