“Aw, just one peek before I go.”

“Before you what?”

“I got to go out for a little while to-night, hon.  On business.”

“Where?”

“Slews.  I got to meet him in the Subway at seven and go to Brooklyn shops with him to look over those ventilators I’m having put in the fitting-rooms.”

She laid down her fork.  “I thought you said he was in St. Louis?”

“He got back.”

“Oh!”

“You lay down in the front room and read till I get back, hon, and maybe—­maybe I’ll bring you a surprise.”

The meal continued in silence, but after a few seconds her throat seemed to close and she discarded the pretense of eating.

“Now don’t you get sore, Mil; you never used to be like this.  It’s just because you’re not right strong yet.”

“I ain’t—­ain’t sore.”

“You are.  You got a foolish idea in your head, Mil.”

“Why should I have an idea?  I guess I’m getting all that’s coming to me for—­for forcing things.”

“Now, Mil, I bet anything you’re still feeling sore about last night.  Aren’t you?”

“Sore?  It ain’t my business, Phonzie, if you can stay out till one o’clock one night and the next want to begin the same thing over again.”

“We had to stick around last night, Mil.  Gert was drawing off the models under her handkerchief and on the dance program.  That’s how we got the yellow charmeuse, just by keeping after it and drawing it line for line.”

“I know, I know.”

“Then give me a kiss and when I come back maybe—­maybe I’ll bring you a surprise up my sleeve, hon.”

She sat beside her cold meal, tears scratching her eyes like blown grit.  “It’s like I told you this morning, Phonzie; when you get tired, all you got to do is remember I got the new trunk standing right behind the cretonne curtains, and I can pack my duds any day in the week and find a welcome over at—­at Ida May’s.”

“Mil, ain’t you ashamed!”

“Why, I could pack up and—­and find a welcome there right to-night, if the kid wasn’t too little for the night air.”

“Mil, honest, I—­I just don’t know what to make of you.  I—­I’ve just lost my nerve about going now.”

“I’m not going to be the one to say stay.”

With his coat unhooked from the antlers and flung across his arm, he stood contemplating, a furrow of perplexity between his eyes.

“If I—­I hadn’t promised—­”

“You go.  I guess it won’t be the last evening I spend alone.”

“Yes it will, hon.”

“I know, I know.”

He buttoned his coat and stooped over her, the smell of damp exuding from his clothes.

“Just you lay down in the front room till I get back, Mil.  Here, look at some of these new fashion books I brought home.  I’ll be back early, hon, and maybe wake you and the kid up with—­with a surprise.”

“Quit!”