Eldridge shook himself and took his hat and went out. The doors swung silently behind him--he would never go in there again! He was a fool--a soft fool! Then he almost stopped in the crowd of the street.... And he knew suddenly that he would go back. He would go--again and again--he could not help himself. But he was _not_ in love--he had been in love--with Rosalind--and it was not like this.... A policeman thrust out an arm and stopped him, and he waited for the traffic to stream past.... He was not in love--only curious about the woman; it teased him not to know who she was... and why he had been so sure that she was Rosalind. If he could see her again--just a minute--long enough to make sure, he would not care if he never saw her again. He was loyal, of course, to Rosalind, more loyal than he had ever been. It seemed curious how the woman had made him see Rosalind--all the plainness of her filled with something strange and sweet--like moonlight or a quiet place. V THE next day he went again to Merwin’s. No use for him to say he would keep away. He knew, all through the drudging accounts in the morning, that he would go; and while he talked with clients and arranged sales and managed a real-estate deal--back in the corner of his mind, behind its green curtains, the little alcove waited. He passed through the swinging doors and glanced quickly, and the hand holding his hat gripped it tight. The curtains of the third alcove to the right were half closed, but along the floor lay a fold of grey dress and over the end of the seat, thrown carelessly back, hung the edge of a fur-lined wrap.