“Conduct. I'm a bad one.” He was almost triumphant. “Only last night I was seen leaving a questionable restaurant--where they dance and drink--with a young lady--” The tears were not falling now. Miss Silvia So-rana was looking straight at him, thoughtful, even cool. “Are you telling me the truth, Hy Lowe?” “The gospel. I'm not even the proletariat. I'm the unemployed.” “Well,” said she--“well!” And she thought it deliberately out. “Well--I guess you can't be blamed for that!” Which impressed Hy later when he thought it over, as a curious remark. They parted shortly after this. But first she said, “Hy, dear, I don't like to seem to be leaving you on account of this. It must be dreadfully hard for you.” So they had a soda, sitting in the drug store window. Hy almost smiled, thinking of the madness of it--he and an unmistakable actress, in working hours, here actually in the shadow of grim old Scripture House! And it was nobody's business! It could hurt nobody! He had not known that freedom would be like this. There was a thrill about it; so deep a thrill that after he had put the sympathetic but plainly hurrying Silvia on an up-town car and had paid for her as she entered, he could not bring himself to return to the office. Even with the Worm up there, wondering what had become of him. Even with all his personal belongings waiting to be cleared from the desk and packed. He wandered over to Washington Square, his spirit reveling in the lazy June sunshine. He stopped and listened to the untiring hurdy gurdy; threw coins to the little Italian girls dancing on the pavement. He thought of stopping in at the Parisian, ordering a “sirop” and reading or trying to read, those delightfully naughty French weeklies. He knew definitely now that he was out for a good time. There was a difficulty. It is easier to have a good time when there is a girl about. Really it was rather inopportune that Hilda Hansen had flitted back to Wisconsin. She needed a guardian; still she had been an appealing young thing up there at the Grand Central. But she had gone! And Silvia--well, that little affair had taken an odd and not over-pleasant turn. The pagan person had, plainly, her sophisticated moments. He was glad that he had seen through her. For that matter, you couldn't ever trust her sort. Then creeping back into his mind like a pet dog after a beating, hesitant, all fears and doubts of a welcome, came the thought of Betty Deane. CHAPTER XXV--HE WHO HESITATED