At the Eldorado the waiters didn't sing at all. Special people did that. But mostly it was just dancing. The floor was filled with couples. A long flight of steps led down to the tables. At the foot of the steps a girl sat alone. She was a young girl and pretty but hard and brazen enough. And she didn't call him, "Dearie." She merely said, "Buy me a drink." Peter sat down. "My name's Elaine," she said. "But you don't have to call me that. I think it's sort of a cold name, don't you? I'm not cold. People that like me call me 'Red,' on account of my hair. Now you tell me your name." "John Whittier," said Peter, reverting to the slumming name he had used in his Freshman year at Harvard. It was the name of the proctor in his entry. "Maybe John Greenleaf Whittier," said Elaine. "Perhaps you're a poet. Yes, I can see you're a poet." Peter was annoyed. "John Whittier's not my real name," he said. "My name's Peter Neale." That aroused no flash of recognition. Peter was surprised that this girl of the Eldorado should know John Greenleaf Whittier and never have heard of Peter Neale. "I don't think it's very nice of you," she said, "not to give me your real name. I gave you mine. Are you ashamed of me?" "No," replied Peter, "I'm ashamed of myself." "What are you doing?" "Trying to get drunk." "We'll get drunk together. I'll help you." Drinking with somebody did seem to help. At any rate after two rounds Peter achieved for the first time during the evening that detached feeling which he had been seeking. All the dancers now were dim and distant. The music was something which tinkled from down a long corridor. Even the obligation to drink seemed lighter. Peter merely sat and stared at Elaine. Gray-eyed, firm and flaming, it was a face which blotted out all other images. He found himself thinking only of this woman in front of him. And she was real. She was close. He could touch her. "Who are you looking at?" said the girl. "Elaine." "I told you that people that liked me called me Red. Why don't you call me that? Why don't you like me?" "I like you a lot." Elaine made a face at him. In her no barriers seemed to have been set up against the potency of drinking. Already she was in the babbling stage. "I'm not like the rest of the girls around here. You don't need to be ashamed of me. I've had a good education. I can prove it to you. Ask me about the square on the hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle." "What about it?" "It's equal to the sum of the squares on the other two sides. You see, if it wasn't for hard luck I wouldn't be in a place like this. I'm a lady. I know Latin too. _Amo_, that's love. _Amo_, I love. _Amas_, you love."