"Sit," I said, "and eat--or otherwise you'll force me to leave the lady and go with you. She has a date after dinner, anyhow." He groaned and sat down--nipping the menu from the waiter's hands roughly. "No news." "Tough." I turned to Yvonne. "His--fiancée--is lost." "How awful! What happened?" Paul glared at me for a moment. "Your friend Dave," he finally said, in a tone more polite than his facial expression, "did all he could. Got an agency looking. Sent a fellow over to stay in my--our--place. We hunted up some more friends of hers--that Dave got track of--and they told us of others. We've been seeing them. It isn't much fun." "Why not quit, then? Wait for her?" "If all she did was walk out," Yvonne agreed, "that's absolutely the only thing to do. Sit tight. Have a good time. Suppose she finds out you're apparently raising heaven and earth to locate her? She'll just hide in a safe spot and enjoy things that much more." Paul turned to her. "Are you serious?" Yvonne was working on him--signaling interest with her gray eyes (they had come considerably alive)--tossing the organized gold shower of her hair--moving herself about in such a way as to emphasize her sex. "It's a darned good generalization. But what happened?" I wondered how he'd put it. "Marcia--" he began, and described her. We were made to see a woman somewhere between Elaine-the-Fair and Florence Nightingale. "I was just about licked when we met! I'm a physicist--work on atomic energy. She made me live--filled me with new feelings--taught me what love could mean to a man like me. Then--we scrapped. Over nearly nothing!" His eyes moved reproachfully to me--then back, confidingly, to the girl. She was listening, nodding with understanding, frowning with sympathy, and keeping her red lips parted the whole time. "We scrapped. She decided we weren't suited to each other. So she left me. That was--yesterday. I'd give everything I own to get her back! Everything I own--and am!" "What exactly did you fight about?" Yvonne asked. Paul's expression became vague. "Never mind. It wasn't important." "Are you sure?" He gave both of us a dark, defiant stare. "Yes." "Then," Yvonne said, "I'm right. You mustn't continue this search operation. You should wait. And entertain yourself. Let her do the coming back--since she ran away." It was the first hope he had felt. "I wish I could believe it would work." "Take my word for it. I'm a woman." "And how," he asked scornfully, "do I start this gay, forgetful act?" "With me," Yvonne said. "I'll break my date. You can escort me to the most conspicuous place in town." "You?" Paul took his first careful look at her. She undoubtedly satisfied him. But he was not altogether persuaded of the plan. It represented merely a new idea--and, as such, offered a small unexpected degree of optimism.