“First you must even up the roll and the sausage--bite off both ends. Like this.” “That’s the rule?” “The rule....” She was like a woman carrying a great load upon her back afraid to ease it, shift it a bit from the sore spot lest it crush her. She was silent. David ate methodically. He enjoyed eating. The bite of the mustard was good on his tender tongue. He felt Cornelia beside him eating, not knowing she ate. The “hot dog” was gone: he felt in her silence a need of question which aroused his own. He wanted to know the truth of this strange problem between Tom and his sister. He wanted to know if Cornelia was really somewhat sentimental, somewhat “the old woman.” He wanted to be sure that she was; that Tom was right, loving her, prizing her, putting her in her place. He wanted to be sure that she was not.... He did not want to lose a tithe of his respect for her--and for himself, sitting beside her close and wanting no change.... A pause, with the weight of their questions clear and compact--closing them in. He was beside her coming close. She was open. Could they not be open in this silence, whatever came? A tree, warm air, no one. Could they not stay open, whatever was born? Cornelia stirred with anguish. She was afraid: she was afraid to look at David: for she was very open. He would pour in through her eyes, if her eyes touched him. All he--into her all. Why not? Her answer was a word of escape. “----that party, tell me about it----” Escape from herself since already, she knew, David was within her. She could not drive him away. She had no will to. She could escape from herself. “----I am not made for parties. But, oh, Cornelia? There was a man, a wonderful man! He played piano for us. He said----” Their spirits had met. Upon the tiny separateness of their questions of Tom their spirits had met and tremorously touched. Now, their spirits floated in opposite directions; timidly, still eye to eye, but with contrary wings propelling them away. They clasped hands. “Good-by.” “Good-by, Davie.” The true psychic reaction of their separateness together came to them both.... David wondered if Tom was right. He had a good time with Cornelia. Nothing fecund about it. Being with her led, if to anything, to gaps and to stops invisible, before which always they turned away. “Perhaps she is sterile.” “Why doesn’t she get married?” Sudden he had a grievance against Cornelia. Life to them must be two separate things. He was happy with her, but even that was a mere emptiness he would with youthful eagerness have sold for a rich battle of pain. She was a woman, yet no woman to him.... Cornelia walked away, knowing what David felt. All the way back to her rooms she felt David moving toward Tom, David doubting, David beginning to patronize and to take her in circumstance and reason.