She was not given long to ponder upon this strange proof of his inner responsiveness; yet the deep significance of it remained with her, and could not but restore in part a certain impressive meaning of their relation. Selma Cross called, and Reifferscheid 'phoned, as Paula was just leaving for down-town. It had been necessary, she explained, to the literary editor in his office, for her to make a sorry little pilgrimage during the past few days. She was very grateful it was over. Reifferscheid said abruptly that pilgrimages were nefarious when they made one look so white and trembly. "The point is, you'd better make another to Staten Island," he added. "Nice rough passage in a biting wind, barren fields, naked woods, and all that. Besides, you must see my system of base-burners----" "I'll just do that--when I catch up a little on my work," Paula said. "I'm actually yearning for it, but there are so many loose ends to tie up, that I couldn't adequately enjoy myself for a day or two. Really, I'm not at all ill. You haven't enough respect for my endurance, which is of a very good sort." "Don't be too sure about that," Reifferscheid said quickly. "It's altogether too good to be hurt.... Do you realize you've never had your hat off in this office?" "I hadn't thought of it," she said, studying him. Plainly by his bravado he wasn't quite sure of his ground. "There ought to be legislation against people with hair the color of yours----" Reifferscheid regarded her a moment before he added, "wearing hats. You must come over to Staten--if for no other reason----" "Oh, I begin to see perfectly now," Paula observed. "You want to add me to your system of base-burners." He chuckled capaciously. "Early next week, then?" "Yes, with delight" He did not tell her of being worried to the point of travelling far up-town to ring the bell of her apartment. She could not like him less for this.... There was a telegram from Charter, when she reached home. In the next two hours, a thought came to Paula and was banished a score of times; yet with each recurrence it was more integrate and compelling. This was Saturday afternoon. Selma Cross returned from her matinée shortly before six and was alone. Paula met her in the hall, and followed into the other's apartment. "I have just an hour, dear. Dimity has supper ready. Stay, won't you?" "Yes," Paula forced herself to say. "I wanted to ask you about Quentin Charter. You were called away--just as you were speaking of him the other morning.... I have not met him, but his two recent books are very wonderful. I reviewed the second for _The States_. He thanked me in a letter which was open to answer." Selma Cross stretched out her arms and laughed mirthlessly. "And so you two have been writing letters?" she observed. "I'm putting down a bet that his are rich--if he's interested."