Page:Glitter (1926).pdf/164

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"Jesus." Not in blasphemy, but in gratitude. And he felt that all the days of his life had marched to this day, an army with banners; that all days thereafter would date from it, as the birthday of happiness.

VIII

They lunched in a wayside tea room, a merry little place, all sunlight, and cretonne, and yellow china, and canary birds in cages. And, because there were others at tables quite near, they talked like acquaintances rather than lovers, hiding the things that glowed in their eyes. They talked of California, and the University, and New York. . . . "I've moved," Yvonne remarked, "I'm not living on Park Avenue any more. I moved yesterday." She gave him a new address, somewhere in the East Sixties, and he jotted it down with a fountain pen on the back of a tailor's bill. "As soon as I've graduated," he told her, "you'll move again, and don't you forget it!" And he smiled his twisted adoring smile, and she smiled back . . . drawnly . . .

Later she said, "That girl we saw—Eunice something, didn't you say her name was?—tell me about her."

"Now why? I don't want to talk about her on a day like this, for heaven's sake!"

"Don't you—care about her, Jock Hamill?"

"Good God, no!"

"She cares about you."

Jock dropped his fork and leaned back, registering indignation. "She what?"

Yvonne nodded. "She does. I could tell. The way she looked at you when we passed. And the way she

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