Peter thought this over and brightened. “But see here!” he cried--“I'm not a Turk. I'm not trying to lock her up.” The Worm was silent. Peter confronted him; spoke with vehemence. “Sue is free--absolutely. I want her to be free. I wouldn't have it otherwise. Not for a moment. It's absurd that she should hesitate about dining with you, or--or”--this with less assurance--“with any man.” Peter walked around the room, stopping again before the Worm who was now sitting on the desk, looking over the evening paper. “Oh, come now!” said Peter. “Put up that paper. Listen to me. Here you are, one of my oldest friends, and you make me out a Victorian monster with the woman I love. Damn it, man, you ought to know me better! And you ought to know Sue better. If her ideas are modern and free, mine are, if anything, freer. Yes, they are! In a sense--in a sense--I go farther than she does. She is marrying me because it is the thing she wants to do. That's the only possible basis on which I would accept her love. If that love ever dies”.... Peter was suddenly all eloquence and heroism. Self-convinced, all afire, he stood there with upraised arm. And the Worm, rather fascinated, let his paper drop and watched the man... “If that love ever dies,” the impressive voice rang on, “no matter what the circumstances, engaged, married, it absolutely does not matter, Sue is free. Good God! You should know better--you, of all people! You know me--do you suppose I would fasten on Sue, on that adorable, inspired girl, the shackles of an old-fashioned property marriage! Do you suppose I would have the hardihood to impose trammels on that free spirit!” Carried away by his own climax Peter whirled, snatched up the desk telephone, called Sue's number, waited tense as a statue for the first sound of her voice, then said, instantly assuming the caressingly gentle voice of the perfect lover: “Sue, dear, hello! How are you? Tired? Oh, I'm sorry. Better get out somewhere. Wish I could come, but a job's a job. I'll stick it out. Wait though! Here's Henry Bates with nothing to do. I'm going to send him over to take you out--make you eat something and then walk a bit. It's what you need, little girl. No, not a word! I'm going to ring off now. He'll come right over. Good-by, dear.” He put down the instrument, turned with an air of calm triumph. “All right,” he said commandingly. “Run along. Take her to the Muscovy. I may possibly join you later but don't wait for me. I'll tell you right now, we're not going to have any more of this fool notion that Sue isn't free.” With which he sat down at his typewriter and plunged into his work.