She produced a mesh bag, and taking out a dollar bill handed it to George. “Here,” she said, “here’s a bribe. You find him and give him my message. You tell him if he isn’t here in five minutes I’m coming up.” George shook his head pessimistically, considered the question for a moment, wavered violently, and then withdrew. In less than the allotted time Gordon came down-stairs. He was drunker than he had been earlier in the evening and in a different way. The liquor seemed to have hardened on him like a crust. He was heavy and lurching--almost incoherent when he talked. “’Lo, Jewel,” he said thickly. “Came right away, Jewel, I couldn’t get that money. Tried my best.” “Money nothing!” she snapped. “You haven’t been near me for ten days. What’s the matter?” He shook his head slowly. “Been very low, Jewel. Been sick.” “Why didn’t you tell me if you were sick. I don’t care about the money that bad. I didn’t start bothering you about it at all until you began neglecting me.” Again he shook his head. “Haven’t been neglecting you. Not at all.” “Haven’t! You haven’t been near me for three weeks, unless you been so drunk you didn’t know what you were doing.” “Been sick, Jewel,” he repeated, turning his eyes upon her wearily. “You’re well enough to come and play with your society friends here all right. You told me you’d meet me for dinner, and you said you’d have some money for me. You didn’t even bother to ring me up.” “I couldn’t get any money.” “Haven’t I just been saying that doesn’t matter? I wanted to see _you_, Gordon, but you seem to prefer your somebody else.” He denied this bitterly. “Then get your hat and come along,” she suggested. Gordon hesitated--and she came suddenly close to him and slipped her arms around his neck. “Come on with me, Gordon,” she said in a half whisper. “We’ll go over to Devineries’ and have a drink, and then we can go up to my apartment.” “I can’t, Jewel,----” “You can,” she said intensely. “I’m sick as a dog!” “Well, then, you oughtn’t to stay here and dance.” With a glance around him in which relief and despair were mingled, Gordon hesitated; then she suddenly pulled him to her and kissed him with soft, pulpy lips. “All right,” he said heavily. “I’ll get my hat.” VIII When Edith came out into the clear blue of the May night she found the Avenue deserted. The windows of the big shops were dark; over their doors were drawn great iron masks until they were only shadowy tombs of the late day’s splendor. Glancing down toward Forty-second Street she saw a commingled blur of lights from the all-night restaurants. Over on Sixth Avenue the elevated, a flare of fire, roared across the street between the glimmering parallels of light at the station and streaked along into the crisp dark. But at Forty-fourth Street it was very quiet.