They showed their need of each other in a thousand ways which were more eloquent than words. Every morning at ten promptly--ten being her hour for rising--he phoned her. Sometimes he found her at Vashti’s apartment, sometimes at Fluffy’s; at Fluffy’s there were frequently sleepy sounds which told him that she was answering him from bed. This morning conversation grew to be a habit on which they both depended. It was a rare day when they did not lunch together. She would meet him in the foyer of one of the fashionable hotels. They had special nooks where they found each other--nooks known only to themselves. In the Waldorf it was against a pillar at the end of Peacock Alley, opposite to the Thirty-fourth Street entrance which is nearest to Fifth Avenue. In the Vanderbilt it was a deep armchair, two windows uptown from the marble stairs. In the same way they had their special tables; they got to know the waiters, and often to please her he would order the table to be reserved. He learnt that lavish tips and the appearance of wealth were the Open Sesame to pleasures of which the frugality of Eden Row had never dreamt. She was invariably late to their appointments--or almost invariably; if he counted on her lateness and arrived late himself, it would so happen that she had got there early. Her instinct seemed to keep her informed, even when he was out of her sight, as to what he was thinking and doing, so that she was able to forestall him, thwart him, surprise him. He felt that this was as it should be if she were in love. The contradiction was that, though he loved her, his sixth sense never served him. When he had calculated that this would be her early day and had arrived with ten minutes in hand, he would watch for an hour the surf of faces washed in through the revolving doors. As time passed, he would begin to conjecture all kinds of dismal happenings; underlying all his conjectures was the suspicion of unexpected death. Then, like a comforting strain of music, she would emerge from the discord of the crowd and take his hand. In the joy that she was still alive, he would hardly listen to her breathless apologies. In all his dealings with her there was this constant harassment of uncertainty. She would never make an arrangement for a day ahead; he must call her up in the morning--she wasn’t sure of her plans. He knew what this meant: she wasn’t sure whether Fluffy would command her attentions. Fluffy came first. He determined at all costs to supplant Fluffy’s premiership in her affections. He had to prove to her, not by talking, but by accumulated acts, how much his love for her meant. So he never complained of her irresponsibility. She could be as capricious as she chose; it never roused his temper. His reward was to have her pat his hand and murmur softly, “Meester Deek, you are good to me.”