Well, what of that? The modern girl was always free, was expected to know how to use her freedom. Nona's independence had been as scrupulously respected as Jim's; she had had her full share of the perpetual modern agitations. Yet Nona was firm as a rock: a man's heart could build on her. If a woman was naturally straight, jazz and night-clubs couldn't make her crooked... True, in Nona's case there had been Pauline's influence: Pauline who, whatever her faults, was always good-humoured and usually wise with her children. The proof was that, while they laughed at her, they adored her: he had to do her that justice. At the thought of Pauline a breath of freshness and honesty swept through him. He had been unfair to her lately, critical, irritable. He had been absorbing a slow poison, the poison emanating from this dusky self-conscious room, with all its pernicious implications. His first impression of Lita, when he had thought her ugly and pretentious, rushed back on him, dissipating the enchantment. "Oh, I'm glad you waited--" She was there before him, her little heart-shaped face deep in its furs, like a bird on the nest. "I wanted to see you today; I _willed_ you to wait." She stood there, her head slightly on one side, distilling her gaze through half-parted lids like some rare golden liquid. Manford stared back. Her entrance had tangled up the words in his throat: he stood before her choked with denunciation and invective. And then it occurred to him how much easier it was just to say nothing--and to go. Of course he meant to go. It was no business of his: Jim Wyant was not his son. Thank God he could wash his hands of the whole affair. He mumbled: "Dining out. Can't wait." "Oh, but you must!" Her hand was on his arm, as light as a petal. "I want you." He could just see the twinkle of small round teeth as her upper lip lifted... "Can't ... can't." He tried to disengage his voice, as if that too were tangled up in her. He moved away toward the door. The "Looker-on" lay on the floor between them. So much the better; she would find it when he was gone! She would understand then why he hadn't waited. And no fear of Jim's getting hold of the paper; trust her to make it disappear! "Why, what's that?" She bent her supple height to pick it up and moved to the lamp, her face alight. "You darling, you--did you bring me this? What luck! I've been all over the place hunting for a copy--the whole edition's sold out. I had the original photograph somewhere, but couldn't put my hand on it."