Had Peter been less preoccupied, he would have noted that Hy was unusually silent. As it was, conscious only that the atmosphere of magical melancholy had been shattered when the door opened, Peter undressed, put out the gas lamp and went to bed, his bed being the very couch on which she had curled up while he read the scenario. He knew that sleep would be impossible, but he felt that he should make every possible effort to control himself. Hy was fussing about in the bedroom.
After a while—a long while—he heard Hy come tiptoeing into the room and stand motionless.
“What the devil do you want!” cried Peter, starting up, all nerves.
“Just wanted to make sure you weren't asleep.” And Hy chuckled breathlessly.
“Quit your cackling! What do you want?”
“Let me sit down, Pete. Damn it. I've got to talk—to somebody. Pete, I'm crazy. I'm delirious. Never mind what I say. Oh, my boy. My boy, you don't know—you can't imagine!... She's the darling of the gods, Peter! The absolute darling of the absolute gods!”
“Is that any reason why you should come driveling all over my room at this time of night?”
“Wait, Pete—serious now. You've got to stand by me in this. The way I've stood by you once or twice. To-day was Friday, wasn't it? Or am I crazy?”
“Both.”
“Then it's to-morrow! I'm just trying to believe it, Pete, that's all.”