It was true, what Rose-Ann had said; he cared nothing for people—only for ideas ... and dreams. He cared for his dream of Phyllis. He was sorry to lose that. Well—he would have to see her. He heard her walking restlessly up and down her room; her light firm step sounded clearly through the door which separated their two rooms. She paused, walked the length of the room, and paused again. She was standing just on the other side of that door.... He went over to that door and knocked. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XLIII. Nocturne 1 THE next moment he called himself a fool for going about it in this way; but he might as well go through with it now. He knocked again, more loudly, and called out her name, cheerfully. “Phyllis?” “Who is it?” she asked, in a startled, questioning voice. He called his own name. “I’ve just discovered we are fellow-lodgers!” he added. “Can I see you?” She fumbled with the lock, and opened the door. She had just taken off her hat and coat, and she was wearing a black dress that made her seem pale. She looked older; her face was not so untroubledly serene as he had remembered it. But the sight of her gave him just such a momentary unreasonable panic as on that winter night when Clive had brought her into the room at Woods Point. She seemed again the impossible person of his secret dreams.... And then the illusion vanished. She was only—Clive’s girl-problem. “What are you doing here?” They both asked the question of each other at once, and then both laughed. “You first,” said Phyllis. “I’m using this as a work-room occasionally,” he explained. “Really!” She looked past him into his room. “Right next to mine. How odd!... You and Rose-Ann haven’t separated or anything, have you?” “Why, no!” he laughed. “Why should you think—?” “It’s absurd, isn’t it? But that was what came into my head. I’m glad it isn’t so.... You work there? I see!” “And you?” he demanded. “Me? I’ve run away at last!” “I heard something about it....” “Yes, run away—from school—from home—from everything! And come to Chicago to make my living. Even Clive didn’t know. I’ve been here three weeks, and I’ve a real job. Not much of a one; just working on a trade-journal. It pays for this room, and my meals—and I’m glad I’ve taken the plunge.... Isn’t it curious, our being neighbours like this!... But come in!” They were still standing there, one on each side of the doorsill. He entered, and looked about her room. It was almost as bare as his own, but larger. A cot, with her coat and hat tossed upon it, a bureau, a writing table, an old trunk, and two chairs, both of them much repaired and one of them still rickety, were its furnishings.