Maria was right. They did talk about it again and largely because Peter surprised himself and her with enterprise. It was raining hard that night when she came out into the alley. Peter grown bold was standing not more than two feet away from the stage door at a spot where a projecting fire escape offered some shelter from the rain. A big puddle lay all the way across the alley. "Here," said Peter, almost casually and he picked Maria up and carried her across. "Thank God, there's no winding staircase," Vonnie shouted after them. Still it was an entirely natural and easy thing to keep one arm around Maria when they got into the taxicab. She rested her head against his shoulder. Peter realized then that he ought to kiss her. After all he had known her three weeks. It seemed the conventional thing to do. Besides he wanted to. She said nothing until the second time. "I like the quiet ones better, Peter, my hermit. It is nice to lean against you. With you the taxi does not jounce so much. Part of my tiredness it goes into your arm." "Won't you marry me?" asked Peter. "Because we have kissed? And I have put my head on your shoulder? You would make me the honest woman?" "I want to marry you." "First we must have some supper. Maybe it is that you are just hungry. It is not upon an empty stomach to talk about getting married." Maria would not take the table which the headwaiter offered. "No that other. The little one in the corner." After they had ordered Maria took up a long bread stick and began breaking it into little pieces in her hand. "Peter," she said, "I must make you very sad. Maybe I will be a little sad. You do not think I am good?" Peter stared at her. "That is too bad. I am not good, not very good. You know what I mean. You have heard the actress in the play say, 'I am a good woman?' Maria is not. I do not know why I tell you but I will. First it was three years ago in Paris. He was married and I knew that. I do not even like him much but I go. It was wrong. It was not so wrong another time because that boy I like a little. Now it was Mr. Casey, our manager, I told you he was a fool. That I could not help. He is such a fool. I try to get the job and he does not say you can dance. He say to me, 'I am a nice man and you are a nice girl.' What is there for me to say except 'yes.' About the dance he does not know anything. What is the use for me to say, 'No, I am not the nice girl, I am the great dancer.' Even if he would watch me dance he would not know. And so for the week-end at Long Beach I was the nice girl. I cannot help it that people are fools. It does not make me sad, but I am sad because now you are unhappy."