He knew the meaning of her fatigue; once more she was barricading herself. He was doubly sure of it when he saw her open her vanity-case and produce a veil. A veil was a means of protection which, above all others, he detested. “Don’t put that thing on.” “I must. It’ll keep the wind off. I don’t like getting chapped.” On the drive back she sat rigid with her hand before her eyes, as though she slept. It seemed to him that he had not advanced a pace since the ride to Long Beach; the only difference was that his arm encircled her. She paid so little heed to it that he withdrew it. She gave no sign that she noticed its withdrawal. It was only when they were halting that she came to herself with a drowsy yawn. Leaning against his shoulder for a second, she peered up at him with mock regret: “And to think that my head might have been resting there all the time!” It was plain that she didn’t want him to come up. In the foyer she held out her hand. When he did not take it, she lowered her eyes: “I’m sorry. I thought you were going.” After the elevator had left them, she stood outside the door and carefully removed her veil. It was a frank invitation to him to kiss her and say good-by. He did neither. She drew the palms of her hands across her eyes. “I ought to go to bed.--You are a sticker. Well, if you won’t go, just for a little while.” She produced the key from her vanity-case. He took it from her and slipped it into the latch. Only Twinkles was at home. For Twinkles she mustered the energy for a display of fun-making. Romping with the dog revived her. “Take the nice gentleman in there,” she said, “while mistress makes herself beautiful. Mistress can’t allow the same gentleman, however pleasant, to come into her bedroom twice.” He didn’t feel flippant. He was quivering with earnestness. While he waited among the litter of presents and paper he tried to master his emotion. He knew that if he once got to touching and kissing her, he would go out of the door with matters as undecided as when he had entered. She drifted into the room rubbing her hands. “Been putting scent on them,” she explained, holding out to him her smooth little palms. “Don’t they smell nice?” He didn’t kiss them. He didn’t dare. She gave him a puzzled look of inquiry; then showed him her back and became absorbed in gathering up the scattered papers. When several minutes of silence had elapsed, she turned. “I’m not going to quarrel with you, if that’s what you want You’d have been wise to have said good-night to me downstairs. If you’ve really got something on your mind, for Heaven’s sake get it off.” “It’s difficult and you don’t help me.” She tossed her head impatiently. “You make me tired. It isn’t a girl’s place to help.”