She opened her mouth, closed it and stared at him, struck by his expression, striving uneasily to fathom hidden depths in his remark. “I don't get on to you,” she said lamely. “I didn't that other time. I never ran across anybody like you.” He tried to smile again. “You mustn't mind me,” he answered. They fell into an oasis of silence, surrounded by mad music and laughter. Then came the long-nosed waiter carrying the beefsteak aloft, followed by a lad with a bucket of ice, from which protruded the green and gold neck of a bottle. The plates were put down, the beefsteak carved, the champagne opened and poured out with a flourish. The woman raised her glass. “Here's how!” she said, with an attempt at gayety. And she drank to him. “It's funny how I ran across you again, ain't it?” She threw back her head and laughed. He raised his glass, tasted the wine, and put it down again. A sheet of fire swept through him. “What's the matter with it? Is it corked?” she demanded. “It goes to the right spot with me.” “It seems very good,” he said, trying to smile, and turning to the food on his plate. The very idea of eating revolted him--and yet he made the attempt: he had a feeling, ill defined, that consequences of vital importance depended upon this attempt, on his natural acceptance of the situation. And, while he strove to reduce the contents of his plate, he racked his brain for some subject of conversation. The flamboyant walls of the room pressed in on every side; comment of that which lay within their limits was impossible,--but he could not, somehow, get beyond them. Was there in the whole range of life one easy topic which they might share in common? Yet a bond existed between this woman and himself--a bond of which he now became aware, and which seemed strangely to grow stronger as the minutes passed and no words were spoken. Why was it that she, too, to whom speech came so easily, had fallen dumb? He began to long for some remark, however disconcerting. The tension increased. She put down her knife and fork. Tears sprang into her eyes,--tears of anger, he thought. “Say, it's no use trying to put up a bluff with me,” she cried. “Why do you say that?” he asked. “You know what I mean, all right. What did you come in here for, anyway?” “I don't know--I couldn't tell you,” he answered. The very honesty of his words seemed, for an instant, to disconcert her; and she produced a torn lace handkerchief, which she thrust in her eyes. “Why can't you leave me alone?” she demanded. “I'm all right.”