After his decision a gradual improvement was manifest.
He had taken at least a step in the direction to which
hope pointed, and he realized that the less he brooded
upon her the better he would be able to give the desired
impression when they met.
In another hour he fell into a deep sleep.
Nevertheless, though, as the days passed, the glory
of her hair dimmed perceptibly for him and in a year
of separation might have departed completely, the
six weeks held many abominable days. He dreaded
the sight of Dick and Maury, imagining wildly that
they knew all—but when the three met it
was Richard Caramel and not Anthony who was the centre
of attention; “The Demon Lover” had been
accepted for immediate publication. Anthony felt
that from now on he moved apart. He no longer
craved the warmth and security of Maury’s society
which had cheered him no further back than November.
Only Gloria could give that now and no one else ever
again. So Dick’s success rejoiced him only
casually and worried him not a little. It meant
that the world was going ahead—writing
and reading and publishing—and living.
And he wanted the world to wait motionless and breathless
for six weeks—while Gloria forgot.
His greatest satisfaction was in Geraldine’s
company. He took her once to dinner and the theatre
and entertained her several times in his apartment.
When he was with her she absorbed him, not as Gloria
had, but quieting those erotic sensibilities in him
that worried over Gloria. It didn’t matter
how he kissed Geraldine. A kiss was a kiss—to
be enjoyed to the utmost for its short moment.
To Geraldine things belonged in definite pigeonholes:
a kiss was one thing, anything further was quite another;
a kiss was all right; the other things were “bad.”
When half the interval was up two incidents occurred
on successive days that upset his increasing calm
and caused a temporary relapse.
The first was—he saw Gloria. It was
a short meeting. Both bowed. Both spoke,
yet neither heard the other. But when it was over
Anthony read down a column of The Sun three times
in succession without understanding a single sentence.
One would have thought Sixth Avenue a safe street!
Having forsworn his barber at the Plaza he went around
the corner one morning to be shaved, and while waiting
his turn he took off coat and vest, and with his soft
collar open at the neck stood near the front of the
shop. The day was an oasis in the cold desert
of March and the sidewalk was cheerful with a population
of strolling sun-worshippers. A stout woman upholstered
in velvet, her flabby cheeks too much massaged, swirled
by with her poodle straining at its leash—the
effect being given of a tug bringing in an ocean liner.
Just behind them a man in a striped blue suit, walking
