“We'll have to quit the pictures, Sue, dear. I can't tell you the whole story now--not here--but Zanin has absolutely broken faith. He has wrecked me... not that I mind that... it's the crookedness of the thing... the ideals he professed... he's sold us out, it's a dirty commercial scheme after all that he's dragged you into.”... The inner pressures were evident now in Peter's voice. It was still low, but it shook and came out jerkily and huskily. He was stopping frequently to swallow. Sue's fingers strayed toward the fork; turned it slowly. Her eyes followed her fingers. A waitress came toward them, stood unnoticed and turned away, exchanging an amused glance with friends at the next table. “It's a complete smash,” Peter went on. “Any way you look at it, it's a smash. There's just that last step to take--we must get out.” “Please--” Sue murmured, “not here!” “But, Sue--” “Don't, Peter. We can talk later.” “But there's nothing to say.” Now the Worm caught in his voice Peter's uncertainty of her. “Is there, Sue?” She turned and turned the fork. Peter's eyes were fastened on her face, hungrily, abjectly. She slowly nodded. “But, Sue, you and I--” She drew a long breath, faced him. “I've got to finish the pictures, Peter.” “Sue, you can't--” “I simply won't talk about this out here. But it would wreck Jacob if I stopped now.” It seemed to the Worm that Peter had to make a desperate effort to comprehend this. His brows were knit, his eyes wandering. Finally he said: “But, Sue, good God! You don't understand. Zanin has wrecked me.” “I'm not sure about that. If we finish the pictures. If we don't--yes.” Peter's hands gripped the edge of the table. “Sue--Zanin has been talking with you!” “Please, Peter--not so loud!” “Has he? Answer me!” Slowly she nodded. “Are you playing fair with me?” “Oh, Peter--yes! I am.” “You are still engaged to be my wife?” “Yes. Please, Peter....” “Then”--the moment Henry Bates had shrewdly, painfully waited as he watched the man, came now; the suppressions that had been struggling within Peter's breast broke bounds; his voice suddenly rang out--“then, I forbid you to go on!” Sue paled; seemed to sink down a little in her chair; knit her brows; said nothing. The room was very still. Even the Greenwich Village group was startled, hushed, by the queer sense of impending drama that filled the room. During the long hush several girls went out, hurriedly. Others struggled unsuccessfully to make talk. One laughed. Peter looked around with half-hearted defiance, then dropped his eyes. “Evidently,” he said, addressing the Worm with queer precise formality, “the thing for me to do is to go. I am not desired here.” But he sat motionless.