Gloria had given her a latch key and she went into the house on Gramercy Square without ringing the bell. She expected to hear her aunt’s voice, but instead a man’s voice called out: “That you, Gloria?” She answered by walking into the drawing-room, disappointed at not finding Gloria there. “Where is Gloria?” They both said it at once, and then they both laughed. Terry Riordan was very appealing when he laughed. He had risen at her entrance, and was standing loose-limbed yet somehow graceful in his formless tweeds. “I’ve been waiting at least an hour for her, though it was obvious that George didn’t want me here. He quite overpowered me with big words and proper English to explain why he thought my waiting quite uncalled for.” “He’s like that, but Gloria is sure to come if you wait long enough,” said Ruth, sinking wearily into a chair and dropping her sketches beside her on the floor. “Even if she doesn’t I couldn’t find a more comfortable place than this to loaf. I’m too nervous to be any place else in comfort. The show opens tonight. It was all right at the tryout in Stamford, but that doesn’t mean much. I want a cigarette, and George frightened me so that I didn’t dare ask him where they are.” “Frightened? You, Mr. Riordan?” “There, you looked like Gloria then. You are relatives, of course, same name and everything, but I never noticed any resemblance before. Suppose you must be distant relatives.” “Gloria says we must be very distant relatives in order to be close friends,” said Ruth, dodging the invitation to tell the extent of her relationship to Gloria. “As for the cigarettes, there should be some in the blue Ming jar over there, or, if you prefer, you can roll your own. There’s tobacco in the box—Gloria’s own tobacco.” “Thanks; I suppose I could have found it myself, but I was actually afraid to look around—George gave me such a wicked look—he did indeed,” said Terry. “What a wonderful woman Gloria Mayfield is,” he continued as he lit a cigarette. “I know,” said Ruth. “No wonder she has so many friends.” “Every one loves Gloria,” continued Terry. “You love her?” asked Ruth. She felt that this man was confiding in her. She wondered if he had proposed to Gloria and if his suit was hopeless. She felt sorry for him, but even while she sympathized she could not keep the three husbands out of her mind. Three husbands were rather overwhelming, but four! Somehow, it didn’t seem quite right, even for so amazing a woman as Gloria. “I should say I do love Gloria. Why, she lets me read everything I’ve written and always applauds. That’s one of the things I came for today. I’ve written that number for Dolly Derwent. Want to hear it?” “Yes, please; I’d love to hear it.” “Got to tell some one,” said Terry, and without waiting for further encouragement, he began singing in his queer, plaintive voice, that made his words sound even more nonsensical than they were, a song the refrain of which was: