The chess game went on deliberately, quietly, and the young man sat there watching it, but at the same time letting his thoughts wander, and suddenly he found himself following in his mind Lola's progress. He pictured her walking down the Drive with the brisk, swinging stride she had assumed of late; then in his mind he saw her cross Seventy-second Street and take a crowded car; in all the changes of her long, complicated trip to the upper East Side he idly kept pace with her, glancing from time to time at the clock, until he seemed to see her running lightly up the dizzy stairs of a shabby tenement house on a side street and entering a tidy little room on the top floor. He saw the room plainly in his mind, for he had often been there with Lola before they had moved to this new apartment. No, now that he came to think of it, not since Lola's recovery, but before then they had gone there together almost every day. He liked to think of her there; on her errand of mercy she would stop and buy flowers, he thought. Nellie loved flowers. How her poor, tired little face used to brighten when she would look up from the sofa where she lay all day long and saw Lola coming into the room. He closed his eyes, and leaning back in his chair saw the picture in his mind. The poor little room, the white-faced, suffering child, smiling happily now, with the flowers pressed against her face, and Lola--Lola bending over her, fresh, beautiful, gentle in her face the look he had seen there once, that wonderful radiance that is seen sometimes in a young girl's face, the foreshadowing of motherhood. * * * * * The blare of music, too near and too loud. The confused babble of rattling dishes, discordant laughter, high-pitched voices, and the clinking of glasses that were filled again and again, but emptied as fast as they were replenished. A great room, the air heavy with many odors and foul with tobacco smoke. Here at one table an old man, with jewels on his fat fingers, with him a young girl, almost a child, a girl in a shabby dress, with eyes bright with wonder and with fear. Here and there, in this brilliant throng, could be picked out bold-eyed men, who laughed across the tables at nervous, frightened women, women who laughed back with terror in their hearts. Comedy, farce, tragedy, aching hearts, and aching heads. Empty lives and empty pocketbooks. Bluff and sham. Age and youth. Love and hate. Fear and lust. One could feel them all, but one could only hear the ceaseless, empty laughter rising above the music, above the noise. If to laugh is to be happy, here was happiness. CHAPTER VIII LOLA TELLS FALSEHOODS "I thought I heard the elevator stop!" John exclaimed nervously as he went to the door and looked anxiously down the hall. "She knew we were to have dinner at seven," Dr. Barnhelm said as he stepped to the window and peered out into the gathering darkness.