"Nothing, unless they love each other. But—she cares—— You should have seen her eyes when I said he had sold his story. But she doesn't know that she cares, and he's got to make her know."
"How can he make her know?"
"Let her see him—now. She has never seen him as he was in New York with us, sure of himself, knowing that he has found the thing that he can do. He was beautiful with that radiant boy-look. You know he was, Mark, wasn't he?"
"Yes, my darling, yes."
"And I want him to be happy, don't you?"
"Of course, dear heart."
"Then get him on the 'phone. I'll do the rest."
IV
Randy, in New York, acclaimed by a crowd of enthusiasts who had read his story as a gold nugget picked up from a desert of literary mediocrity. Randy, not knowing himself. Randy, modest beyond belief. Randy, in his hotel at midnight, walking the floor with his head held high, and saying to himself, "I've done it."