Hy, still in overcoat and hat, was gazing with rapt eyes at a snap-shot of two girls. He laughed a little, self-consciously, at the sight of Peter and set the picture against the mirror on his side of the bureau. There were other pictures stuck about Hy's end of the mirror; all of girls and not all discreet. One of these, pushed aside to make room for the new one, fell to the floor. Hy let it lie. Peter leaned ever and peered at the snap-shot. He recognized the two girls as Betty Deane and Sue Wilde. “Look here,” said Peter, “where have you been?” “Having a dish of tea.” “Don't you ever work?” “Since friend Betty turned up, my son, I'm wondering if I ever shall.” Peter grunted. His gaze was centered not on Hy's friend Betty, but on the slim familiar figure at the right. “Just you two?” “Sue came in. Look here, Pete, I'm generous. We're going to cut it in half. I get Betty, you get Sue.” Peter, deepening gloom on his face, sat down abruptly on the bed. “Easy, my son,” observed Hy sagely, “or that girl will be going to your head. That's your trouble, Pete; you take 'em seriously. And believe me, it won't do!” “It isn't that, Hy--I'm not in love with her.” There was a silence while Hy removed garments. “It isn't that,” protested Peter again. “No, it isn't that. She irritates me.” Hy took off his collar. “Any--anybody else there?” asked Peter. “Only that fellow Zanin. He came in with Sue. By the way, he wants to see you. Seems to have an idea he can interest you in a scheme he's got. Talked quite a lot about it.” Peter did not hear all of this. At the mention of Zanin he got up suddenly and rushed off into the studio. Hy glanced after him; then hummed (more softly, out of a new respect for Peter) a hesitation waltz as he cut the new picture in half with the manicure scissors and put Sue on Peter's side of the bureau. The Worm came in, dropped coat and hat on a chair and settled himself to his pipe and the evening paper. Peter, stretched on the couch, greeted him with a grunt. Hy appeared, in undress, and attacked the piano with half-suppressed exuberance. It was the Worm's settled habit to read straight through the paper without a word; then to stroll out to dinner, alone or with the other two, as it happened, either silent or making quietly casual remarks that you didn't particularly need to answer if you didn't feel like it. He made no demands on you, the Worm. He wasn't trivial and gay, like Hy; or burning with inner ambitions and desires, like Peter. On this occasion, however, he broke bounds. Slowly the paper, not half read, sank to his knees. He smoked up a pipeful thus. His sandy thoughtful face was sober. Finally he spoke. “Saw Sue Wilde to-day. Met her outside the Parisian, and we had lunch together.” Peter shot a glance at him. The Worm, oblivious to Peter, tamped his pipe with a pencil and spoke again. “Been trying to make her out. She and I have had several talks. I can't place her.”