There, were many large dressy women, escorted by sharp-looking men of two races. There were also small dressy women, some mere girls and pretty, but nearly all wearing make-up on cheeks and lips and quite all with extreme, sophistication in their eyes. There was shining silver and much white linen. Chafing dishes blazed. French and Austrian waiters moved swiftly about under the commanding eye of a stern captain. Uniformed but pocketless hat boys slipped it and out, pouncing on every loose article of apparel.... It was a gay scene; and Peter found himself in it, of it, for it. With rising exultation in his heart he reflected that he was back on Broadway, where (after all) he belonged. His manager of the afternoon came in now, who believed, with Peter, that woman's place was the home. He was in evening dress--a fat man. At his side tripped a very young-appearing girl indeed--the youngest and prettiest in the room, but with the make-up and sophistication of the others. Men (and women) stared at them as they passed. There was whispering; for this was the successful Max Neuerman, and the girl was the lucky Eileen O'Rourke. Neuerrman sighted Peter, greeted him boisterously, himself drew up an unoccupied chair. Peter was made acquainted with Miss O'Rourke. “This is the man, Eileen,” said Neuerman, breathing confidences, “Wrote _The Trufiler_. Big thing! Absolutely a new note on Broadway! Eric here has caught the new bachelor woman, shown her up and put a tag on her. After this she'll be called a truffler everywhere.... By the way, Eric, I sent the contract down to you to-night by messenger. And the check.” Miss Eileen O'Rourke smiled indulgently and a thought absently. While Peter lighted, thanks to Neuermnn, a thirty-cent cigar and impulsively told Miss O'Rourke (who continued to smile indulgently and absently) just how he had come to hit on that remarkable tag. It was nearly nine o'clock when he left and walked, very erect, from the restaurant, conscious of a hundred eyes on his back. He gave the hat boy a quarter. Out on Forty-second Street he paused to clear his exuberant but confused mind. He couldn't go back to the rooms; not as he felt now. Cabarets bored him. It was too early for dancing. Irresolute, he strolled over toward Fifth Avenue, crossed it, turned south. A north-bound automobile bus stopped just ahead of him. He glanced up at the roof. There appeared to be a vacant seat or two. In front was the illuminated sign that meant Riverside Drive. It was warm for February. He decided to take the ride. Just in front of him, however, also moving toward the bus, was a young couple. There was something familiar about them. The girl--he could see by a corner light--was wearing a boyish coat, a plaid coat. Also she wore a tam o'shanter. She partly turned her head... his pulse started racing, and he felt the colour rushing into his face. It was Sue Wilde, no other!