Loveman frankly admitted to himself that his affairs and his own personal safety were in a critical condition--critical to a degree never before reached in his career. As he now had matters planned, he stood to win everything--or almost everything; and also he stood to lose everything--or almost everything. In such a crisis, where all was at stake, he had to be on hand--despite any added risks--to watch over, and if necessary direct, the final moves of this his ultimate plan. Loveman stepped into the great dining-room, and stepped also into a scene that was typical of how the forces which are behind Big Pleasure, which are a part of it, handle those who weakly or unwarily let themselves be carried too far by its alluring and mighty current. “Good-evening, everybody,” he called cheerily. “Hello, Jack. This is certainly one quiet little birthday party you’re giving.” Loveman had himself instigated it, though these five at the table had brought it to pass. “Kind of you to invite me, Jack.” “Got to have ole Peter--else no birthday party,” cried Jack, swaying up and taking Loveman’s hand, holding on to one of Nina’s with his left. “Had three birthday parties this week; goin’ have seven next week. Peter, y’re invited to ’em all! You there, Slim,”--this to the slight, handsome young man,--“get fresh bottle Pommery, open for ole Peter Loveman.” Without taking his eyes off Jack, Loveman let them also include Nina Cordova. She gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Thanks, Jack,” said Loveman; and then in an amiably chiding tone: “But I must say I’m surprised. I thought you had settled down to be a steady business man.” “Damn business!” “But your wife, Jack? I thought you were trying to attend to business for her sake.” Jack showed a flash of petulant ill-temper. “Tha’s wha’ make me sore at her! Always drivin’ me to work. Always work--always business! Man’s got ri’ to li’l’ relaxation, ain’t he?” His good-nature was back again. “Tell you wha’, man’s got ri’ to do as he likes. Tell you wha’, nothin’ like bein’ free!” “Oh, I don’t know,” put in Nina with a challenging shrug of her dainty bare shoulders, and a disbelieving smile. “That’s what you say--but you wouldn’t really dare do it and be it. You see, Peter,” with her pleasing drawl,--she was a better actress off the stage than on it,--“this bold young gentleman, who believes so strongly in his right to do as he pleases, has just been trying to tell me how much he loves me. He’s a nice little boy, Jack,--but I don’t believe him.” “But, Nina, li’l’ girl, I do love you!” protested Jack. “Here’s Slim with tha’ champagne. Slim, fill all glasses. Everybody ready? All ri’--here’s Nina, only girl I love, only girl I ever goin’ love!” Jack drained his glass. The others merely sipped theirs. “But drinking a glass of wine doesn’t prove anything,” said Nina, with her pleasantly provoking drawl. “You say you’re free, and you say you love me--but you’re afraid really to prove it.”