It was Peter who slackened first. His feet began hurting: an old trouble with his arches. And despite the tang in the air, he was dripping with sweat. He mopped his forehead and made a desperate effort to breathe easily. Sue was a thought flushed, there was a shine in her eyes; she danced a few steps in the road and smiled happily. “That's the thing!” she cried. “That's the way I love to move along!” Apparently she liked him better for walking like that. It really seemed to make a difference. He set his teeth and struck out again, saying--“All right. Let's have some more of it, then!” And sharp little pains shot through his insteps. “No,” said she, “it's best to slow down for a while. I like to speed up just now and then. Besides, I've got something on my mind. Let's talk.” He walked in silence, waiting. “It's about that other talk we had,” said she. “It has bothered me since. I told you your plays were dreadful. You remember?” He laughed shortly. “Oh, yes; I remember.” “There,” said she, “I did hurt you. I must have been perfectly outrageous.” He made no reply to this; merely mopped his forehead again and strode along. The pains were shooting above the insteps now, clear up into the calves of his legs. “I ought to have made myself plainer,” said she. “I remember talking as if you couldn't write at all. Of course I didn't mean that, and I had no right to act as if I held myself superior to a man of your experience. That was silly. What I really meant was that you didn't write from a point of view that I could accept.” “What you said was,” observed Peter, aiming at her sort of good-humored directness, and missing, “'the difficulty is, it's the whole thing--your attitude toward life--your hopeless sentimentality about women, the slushy horrible Broadway falseness that lies back of everything you do--the Broadway thing, always.'... Those were your words.” “Oh, no!” She was serious now. He thought she looked hurt, almost. The thought gave him sudden savage pleasure. “Surely, I didn't say that.” “You did. And you added that my insight into life is just about that of a hardened director of one-reel films.” She was hurt now. She walked on for a little time, quite silent. Finally she stopped short, looked right at him, threw out her hands (he noted and felt the grace of the movement!) and said-- “I don't know how to answer you. Probably I did say just about those words.”