She answered without emotion, as if she were talking with a distant part of herself. "There was a little boy. He died as a baby. We haven't any." Deep, kindly eyes looking at her as they danced. "I'm so sorry, Anna." She whispered again, "Faster!" A shadow over his face. She must be careful of his eyes--eyes that laughed, but keen, almost as keen as Erik's. "My Erik ... my own...." It was all a dream, a nightmare of her own inventing. Nothing had happened. Imaginings. Erik loved her. Why else should he weep and kiss her when he thought her asleep? He loved her, he loved her! Her face grew bright. Faster. Always to dance and dream of Erik. She must tell Eddie.... "Erik is wonderful. I'm dying to have you meet him. Oh, Eddie, he's wonderful!" Now she could laugh and enjoy herself. Something had emptied out of her breasts--cold iron, warm lead. She was lighter, easy to bend and glide to the music. Everything was easy. Her face lighted by something deeper than a smile, she danced in silence. Eddie was far away--ten years away. His eyes that were smiling at her were no eyes at all. They were part of the music and movement that caressed her with the sweetness of life, of being loved by Erik.... Tesla watched his friend lead the red-haired lady away to dance. For a while there lingered about him the air of unctious submission that had revolted Anna. Then it vanished. His face as he sat alone seemed to tighten. The flabbiness of his eyes became something else. Diners at other tables caught glimpses of him while they ate. A commanding figure, rugged, youthful-faced. Features that made definite lines, compelling lines, in the blur of other features. A man of certainties, yet with something weak about him. His eyes were like a child's. They did not quite belong in his face. There, eyes should have gleamed, stared with intensities. Instead, eyes purred--abstract, tender eyes; the kind that attracted women sometimes because they were almost like a women's eyes dreaming of lovers. "Hello, Tesla!" Again the fawning lights, smiles, bowings. This was Dorn--a Somebody. Somebodies always changed Tesla. There was a thing in him that smirked before Somebodies, as if he were a timorous puppy wagging its tail and leaping about on flabby legs. "Mrs. Dorn is sitting here with a friend. They're dancing. We're all at this table, Mr. Dorn."