He started like a guilty man. In the Village, it was nothing for a man to be in a girl's rooms or a girl in a man's. The group was too well emancipated for that--in theory, at least. In fact, of course, difficulties often arose--and gossip. Greathearted phrases were the common tender of Village talk; but not all the talkers were great-hearted. And women suffered while they smiled. He would have preferred not to be found there. A key grated. The door opened. With a shrinking at his heart, a sudden great selfconsciousness, he stepped into the hall. It was Sue--in her old street suit. CHAPTER XXXII--CHAPTER ONE |SUE stared at him, caught her breath, laughed a little. “Why--Henry! You startled me. Where's Betty?” The Worm, thinking quickly, bitterness in his heart against the selfish lightness of the Village, bed. “Haven't seen her. Waited for her to come in. Finally decided I'd better not wait any longer.” They were in the dim living-room now. Sue's eyes took in the strapped trunk and closed suit-case, the bare screen and couch. “But who--Henry, you don't mean that you--” He nodded. His pipe was out--he simply couldn't keep it going! Still, it gave him something to do, lighting it again. Sue stood watching him, studying his face by the light of a match reflected from his hollowed hands. “Why so dark in here?” she observed. Then, abruptly, she came to him, laid a hand on his arm, broke out with feeling: “You're a dear, Henry, to go to all this trouble! As it was, I felt I was imposing on you. So I ran in to look after things myself.” “Going back to-night?” he asked, talking around his pipe-stem. “Oh. yes. I must.” She moved to the window and gazed out at the crowded familiar scene. Suddenly she turned. “Henry--didn't you see Betty?” “No,” he muttered. “Then how on earth did you get in? There are only the two keys.” He lowered his pipe, stared at her with open mouth. As soon as his mind cleared a little he thought--“Good God! I don't even lie well! I'm no good--for anything!” He turned with a jerk; walked down the room; walked back again; striding out savagely, turning with a jerk. “What is it you aren't felling me?” she asked, following him with troubled eyes. He paced and paced. Finally he came to the other side of the window, stared gloomily out. Still she watched him, waiting. “Sue,” he said--she had never known this vehemence in him--“you're wrong.” “Wrong, Henry?”