She sat still.  She didn’t fidget, as Nina did.  She listened, too.  She was not as beautiful as she appeared on the stage, but she was attractive, and he stilled his conscience with the knowledge that she placed no undue emphasis on his visits.  In her world men came and went, brought or sent small tribute, and she was pleased and grateful.  No more.  The next week, or the week after, and other men in other places would be doing the same things.

But he wondered about her, sometimes.  Did she ever think of Judson Clark, and the wreck he had made of her life?  What of resentment and sorrow lay behind her quiet face, or the voice with its careful intonations which was so unlike Nina’s?

Now and then he saw her brother.  He neither liked nor disliked Gregory, but he suspected him of rather bullying Beverly.  On the rare occasions when he saw them together there was a sort of nervous tension in the air, and although Leslie was not subtle he sensed some hidden difference between them.  A small incident one day almost brought this concealed dissension to a head.  He said to Gregory: 

“By the way, I saw you in Haverly yesterday afternoon.”

“Must have seen somebody else.  Haverly?  Where’s Haverly?”

Leslie Ward had been rather annoyed.  There had been no mistake about the recognition.  But he passed it off with that curious sense of sex loyalty that will actuate a man even toward his enemies.

“Funny,” he said.  “Chap looked like you.  Maybe a little heavier.”

Nevertheless he had a conviction that he had said something better left unsaid, and that Beverly Carlysle’s glance at her brother was almost hostile.  He had that instantaneous picture of the two of them, the man defiant and somehow frightened, and the woman’s eyes anxious and yet slightly contemptuous.  Then, in a flash, it was gone.

He had meant to go home that evening, would have, probably, for he was not ignorant of where he was drifting.  But when he went back to the office Nina was on the wire, with the news that they were to go with a party to a country inn.

“For chicken and waffles, Les,” she said.  “It will be oceans of fun.  And I’ve promised the cocktails.”

“I’m tired,” he replied, sulkily.  “And why don’t you let some of the other fellows come over with the drinks?  It seems to me I’m always the goat.”

“Oh, if that’s the way you feel!” Nina said, and hung up the receiver.

He did not go home.  He went to the theater and stood at the back, with his sense of guilt deadened by the knowledge that Nina was having what she would call a heavenly time.  After all, it would soon be over.  He counted the days.  “The Valley” had only four more before it moved on.

He had already played his small part in the drama that involved Dick Livingstone, but he was unaware of it.  He went home that night, to find Nina settled in bed and very sulky, and he retired himself in no pleasant frame of mind.  But he took a firmer hold of himself that night before he slept.  He didn’t want a smash, and yet they might be headed that way.  He wouldn’t see Beverly Carlysle again.