"Cleland, I think you’re the only man in the world for whom I have any real consideration. I haven’t much use for men—no delusions. But it always has been different about you—even when we fought in school—even when I used to sneer at you sometimes.... And I want, somehow, to make you understand that I wish you well; that if it lay with me you should attain _whatever_ you wish in life; that if attainment depended upon my stepping aside I’d do it.... That’s all I can say. Think it over and try to understand." Cleland, astonished, looked at him with unconcealed embarrassment. "You’re very kind," he said, "to feel so generously interested in my success. I wish you success, too." Grismer smiled: "You _don’t_ understand me after all," he said pleasantly. "I was afraid you wouldn’t." "You are offering me your friendship, as I take it," said Cleland awkwardly. "Isn’t that what you meant?" "Yes. And other things...." He laughed with a slight touch of malice in his mirth: "There’s such a lot yet left unsaid between you and me, which you and I must say to each other some day. But there’s plenty of time, Cleland.... And I shall be very glad to design and execute a fountain for your garden." He offered his hand; Cleland took it, the embarrassed flush still staining his face. "Yes," he said, "there is a matter that I wish to talk over with you some day, Grismer." "I know.... But I think we had better wait a while.... Because I wish to answer everything you ask; and for the present I had rather not." They walked slowly to the area gate and Grismer unlocked it. "I’m glad you came," he said. "It’s a bit lonely sometimes.... I have no friends." "When you feel that way," said Cleland, "drop in on me." "Thanks." And that was all. Cleland went away through the ill-smelling streets, crossed the sunny square, and walked thoughtfully back to his own studio. "He’s a strange man," he mused, "—he was a strange boy, and he’s grown into a curious sort of man.... Poor devil.... It’s as though something inside him is lacking—or has been killed.... But why in God’s name did Steve marry him unless she was in love with him? ... It must be.... And his pride won’t let him take her until he can stand on his own feet.... When I dig that pool I’ll dig a pit for my feet.... A grave for a fool...." He unlocked his studio and went in. "I’m done with love," he said aloud to himself. The jingle of the telephone bell echoed his words and he walked slowly over to the table and detached the receiver. "Jim?" "Is it you, Steve?" "Yes. Would you like some tea about five?" "All right. I’ve had no lunch and I’ll be hungry." "You know, Jim, I’m not going to provide a banquet for you. Why don’t you go out and take lunch?" "I forgot it. I don’t feel like work. Shall I come down and talk to you now?" "I’m going out to take a dancing lesson in a few moments. I’ll talk to you while I’m putting on my hat."