3
The end came suddenly, on the morning of the fourth day. They were having coffee.
She yawned, and asked for another cup. “I don’t think I’ll come back today,” she said casually.
He laughed. He couldn’t help it.
“You, too?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said frankly. “I’m getting interested in my play.... I suppose I’ve been rather a nuisance, talking about that play!”
“And you’re bored hearing what a great actress I am!” she said.
They smiled at each other.
“It’s been very nice!” she said.
“You are a darling!” he told her.
“I’ll pay you a real compliment,” she said. “You are as much of an egotist as I am. I like you. I can go off now and think about my part and never give you another thought.... And you won’t mind.”
“No. But I, on the contrary, shall think about you often—and put you in a play sometime.”
They chatted until it was time for her to go to the rehearsal.
“Will you button my spats?” she asked.
He knelt and pried the buttons into their eyelets.
“Good-bye,” she said, and lifted her face to be kissed.
For the first time, in this good-bye kiss, there was expressed a real affection. At least, they were friends now. They wished each other well. They cared—a little—about each other. Doubtless that was why they had begun wanting each other’s praise, begun to be annoyed at each other’s indifference. They were friends already—they might perhaps become more than friends. That was why they were not going to see each other any more.
It had been perfect. It must not be spoiled.
“Good-bye, Felix dear.”
He put his arms about her.
“Good-bye, Bobbie Eulenspiegel.”
“I do like you.”
“I like you, too.”
They kissed again, and she went.
He turned back to his play.