"No, I won't; I'll keep my word, Grace." He was speaking very earnestly now. "I love you—all of you; the good and the bad, your wonderful woman's soul and your perennial childishness. You are so beautiful in so many ways that you yourself cannot know how completely beautiful you are. But I love more than your beauty. After it is all over you will realize that I can be trusted implicitly. Never has man been put to such a task. Don't you know—can't you see what I am doing?"
She knew; she saw. She felt herself mistress of the situation. She therefore said, softly:
"I shouldn't want you to commit suicide here."
Hearing no reply, she looked at him. He was ready for it. She saw his nostrils dilate and his fists clench and unclench.
"Then I won't see you. But—but you can see me," he said.
She frowned.
He went on: "I shall lunch every day at Jerry's—small table in the northeast corner. At one o'clock every day for a whole month."
Did he expect her to run after him? She said, very coldly:
"That wouldn't be fair."
"If you go to Jerry's for luncheon with one of your girl friends, and you see me eating alone, keeping bushels of wonderful news all to myself, is that making love to you?"