He rose and walked again, began a circular tramp about the room. He passed through a whispering tunnel, completely black. He was marching in the dark and knew that Olive and Gurdy watched him, that Bernamer came into the room with his hat in a hand. Yet he walked in blackness. He would go mad of this! She had lied to him. She had thrown herself to a married man. Well, girls did that. Things were changing. People did queer things. He was jealous for Gurdy, that was the trouble. He had wanted her married to Gurdy. She had said such good things of Gurdy.—All this time she’d been lying. She was in love with this pink, married actor.—The talk would roll among the restaurants, in the offices. People would laugh. Awful names! All the other noises would slacken and fail in this whispering. They would sneer when the Walling opened.—She couldn’t care anything for him or she wouldn’t have lied. Gurdy didn’t lie. Mark tore himself out of the black whispering and went to take Gurdy’s sleeve.
“Don’t you mind, sonny. She—she’d ought to have told you she liked this—”
“Oh, Mark, I don’t care about her.”
“All right to say that—but don’t you mind.”
Bernamer came across the room and took Mark in his arms. He said, “Now, bud, don’t upset yourself. I got to go home. The fam’ly don’t know nothin’. I shan’t say a word.—What you do is this. Get hold of Cora Boyle and give her money to let this feller divorce her, see? That’ll save talk and trouble.”
“That’s right, Eddie. Yes, good idea.”
Bernamer hugged him and left the room. Mark’s head cleared. There was no black tunnel. Eddie was right. He must make the best of this. It could be hushed up. Women like Cora needed money for clothes. He nodded to Gurdy, “You’ll never be any smarter than your dad, son. Ain’t he a nice fellow, Olive?”
“Of course, dear.”
“And I’m bein’ a fool. I know it. Only there’s lots of men that feel like I do about these kind of things.—One o’clock.—You and Gurdy have some lunch.”
Olive said, “Mark, would you like to talk to her?”