New plans.... Felix wondered what that phrase might mean. Perhaps the promise of a raise in wages—though it sounded like something more than that. But he could not guess what it might be, and he decided not to tell Rose-Ann about it—she was so egregiously confident for him, and she might build up vain hopes on a phrase that meant nothing. He did not want her to be disappointed. 2 Clive, who looked tired, and seemed preoccupied, came willingly enough along to lunch. “So the nest-building instinct is at work already!” observed Clive. And then: “What kind of place does Rose-Ann want? One with elevators, a man in brass buttons to answer the door, and a garbage incinerator?” At lunch, which started in with a curious lack of amicability, Felix repeated this latter pleasantry to Rose-Ann. It occurred to him that what she wanted might very easily be something beyond his income, even with that possible raise. Rose-Ann smiled at Clive. “Not exactly that,” she said. “Perhaps more preposterous still! The truth is, I don’t know, exactly. All I do know is that I don’t like any of the things I’ve seen this morning. I did see some that—but no, even those won’t do.” “What’s the matter with them?” asked Felix. “I’ll take you along and let you see for yourself. Mostly stuffy little cubicles. You know what the ordinary Chicago flat is like.” “Why should you want something different?” asked Clive innocently. “Why not?” said Rose-Ann, challengingly. “Felix and I are different—why should we live like everybody else?” “I’m glad to hear it,” said Clive. “I confess I thought you were going to.” “Is that why you have been so distant and satirical with me today? Had you lost confidence in me already?” “Forgive me,” he said. “You are angry at some other girl,” said Rose-Ann shrewdly. Clive smiled. “Perhaps you are right.” “And if you gave me a hundred guesses,” said Rose-Ann, “perhaps I could guess the girl, too.” “Perhaps you could,” he conceded. “So it’s Phyllis. I’m sorry. I like her very much.” “So do I,” said Clive grimly. Felix was surprised at Rose-Ann’s rashness in teasing Clive about a situation concerning which he had always shown a disposition to keep his own counsel; and still more surprised at the way Clive took this teasing. “Well,” Rose-Ann was saying, “she has an air of quiet possessiveness towards you which indicates that not much can be amiss!” “What is amiss, dear lady,” said Clive gravely, “is with the universe. Phyllis and I are each all right, in our separate ways, I hope. Phyllis is, I’m sure!—she’s a lovely child, isn’t she?... With an interesting history too. Perhaps I’ll tell it to you, some time.” “Clive is very unhappy, isn’t he?” said Rose-Ann, when he had left them for a moment to talk to a couple who had greeted him from another table. “He prefers to be unhappy, I think,” said Felix.