He nodded. “If Peter and I smash up. Whatever happens. I can't see ahead myself. But the pictures are half done, and they're all you. It would be serious if you--” Sue silenced him with a nervous glance about; compressed her lips; turned her fork over and over on the table; then slowly nodded. “I'll finish,” she said very soberly. “All right,” he replied. “I knew you would, of course. But I had to ask. Things have changed so.... I'll be down later.” Sue watched him, still turning the fork with tense fingers, as he made his way to the door, paused for a word with one of the girl waitresses--an impoverished young writer and idealist, Jewish, rather pretty, who had played with them at the Crossroads--and finally disappeared in the hall, turning back toward the stairway that led up to the rooms of the Free woman's Club. The Worm was studying the menu. He waited until her eyes and her thoughts returned to the table, then looked up at her with a quiet grin. “How about food, Sue?” said he. She gazed at him, collected her thoughts, looked down at the card. Then she made an effort to smile. “Sorry, Henry--I've lost my appetite.” She pressed the edge of the card against her pursed lips. “Henry, let's get out--go over to Jim's.” He shook his head. “We can't,” he said. Then he saw her gaze narrow intently, over his shoulder--so intently that he turned. Peter was standing in the doorway, peering about the room--a repressed, elaborately self-contained Peter. His mouth drooped at the corners. The lines that extended downward from his nose were deeper than usual, had something the appearance of being carved in a gray marble face. Peter's gaze--he seemed to find it difficult to focus his eyes, was laborious about it--finally rested on their table. Slowly he got through the crowd, approaching them. He jostled one of the girl waiters; and turning, apologized with rather extraordinary formality. The girl glanced after him, curious. The Worm looked around, perceived an unoccupied chair at a neighboring table, lifted it over the heads of his neighbors and set it down beside his own. Peter dropped into it, saying, “I'm sorry to disturb you two... something has come up.” The Worm found it rather uncomfortable. His first impulse was to withdraw and let Peter and Sue talk. But people were looking at them; there were audible whispers; he decided to do nothing conspicuous. He sat back in his chair and studied the menu again. “I'll know the thing by heart pretty soon!” he thought. Peter leaned forward, toward Sue. She was watching him calmly, the Worm thought; but she was a little hushed. There was no escaping the conversation that followed. Peter managed to keep his voice fairly low; but it was plain that he barely realized where he was. The whole engine of his mind--racing now at several thousand R. P. M.--was headed inward.