He mounted the stairs, crowded past the telephone booths, staging at them as he went. They conveyed a suggestion to his mind. He stepped cautiously to the restaurant door, nodded to the maître d'hôtel and glanced in. The nearer room was empty; but beyond the second doorway, Zanin's shoulder and profile were visible. Sue he could not see, but she must be sitting there. Yes, Zanin was leaning forward, was speaking, even smiling, in that offhand way of his!
Peter, flushing now, turned away; confronted the boy called Raoul; pressed a silver quarter into his palm. “Page, Miss Wilde,” he breathed huskily. “Tell her she is wanted on the phone.”
The boy named Raoul obeyed. At the Parisian it is not regarded as surprising that a gentleman should wish to speak to a lady.
Peter rushed around the turn and Waited at the farther end of the row of booths.
Finally he heard her step.
When she saw him she stopped. “Oh,” she said, “Peter!” And she frowned a very little.
“It was a deception,” he broke out, “but I had to see you, Sue! I know you are with Zanin. I saw you come in. I don't see how you can do it, but we'll let that pass. I—”
“What is it, Peter? What do you want with me?”
“Oh, Sue! Are you as hard as that? What do I want of you! Good God! When I see you, after all I have suffered for your sake, plunging back into this life—taking up with that crock Zanin as if nothing had happened, as if—Why, he—”
Sue grew a little white about the mouth and temples. She glanced back at the empty passage.