es Virginia know that?"

"Virginia almost understands everything, but of course she can't afford
to admit it, or one would behave too impossibly."

"Matthew, may I tell you something very serious?"

"Yes, if you don't expect me to profit by it."

"I used to understand almost everything, and I went on stretching and
stretching till it broke, and now I understand nothing."

"Perhaps you are right," he twinkled at her, "perhaps I had better not
marry Virginia."

"Are you trying to make me unhappy?"

"Margaret, dearest, I might even be serious if I thought that it would
make you happy."

"Good heavens, it's one, and I am lunching at one."

"Margaret, promise never to mislay our intimacy again."

"I promise."

That evening there was a knock at the door.

"Monsieur a fait dire que c'etait un bouquet pour Madame."

An immense bunch of balloons followed him into the room.

"For Margaret who--in spite of everything, because of
everything--understands everything."

"Matthew," she wrote, "how young you make me."

And then she murmured to herself:

"Poor Virginia!"

II: LAMPS

"I love you so." The wheels of the taxi were the counterpoint to his
voice.

"What is the good of my turning away when every bit of him bites into my
consciousness?" she thought.

The road stretched ahead of them like cire satin with a piping of
lights. She had changed her position a little, restless under the
constraint of his eyes. A lamp lit her up for him, her face white and
drawn, her eyelids pulled over her eyes like a heavy curtain.

"One feels that one could skate down the street," she murmured, "it
looks like stuff worn thin with time and use--the shabby shiny surface
of the night."

On and on they went.

"We can't get anywhere," he said.

A lamp lit up her face.

It looked so weary and impotent as if she had abdicated the uneven
struggle with circumstances.

On they raced, down the slippery ribbon of road.

There was a bump and she fell towards him. He stretched out his arm and
held her firm and secure. He wanted her to feel that it was a rampart
and not an insidious outpost of passion quick to take advantage.

"Let me kiss you once, for God's sake," his voice was harsh.

She turned her face towards him. The passing lamp showed her resigned,
pitying, tender.

"Don't look like that," he said--sharp with the things he had wanted.

"I'm sorry," her voice was velvety and comforting.

Yet another lamp, there