“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.
4
Late that evening he finished the rough draft of his second act. That was as far as he could go. He had put into his characters all he knew of them. The rest of the play would wait. He put his manuscript away.
And as he put it away, the thoughts that it had shut out by its dream-like presentment of them began painfully to crowd in upon him.... Elva had been right; not caring was only a mood with him—and it was already over. She had predicted that it would last three hours. It had lasted three days.