 five-thirty.”

Peter slipped away. Neuerman had acted without consulting him. It seemed
to him that he should be angry. But he was merely dazed.

He walked the streets, a solitary, rather elegant figure, conspicuously
a New Yorker, swinging his stick savagely and occasionally muttering to
himself. He roved out to the open country. Maple buds were sprouting.
New grass was pushing upward into the soft air. The robins were singing.
But there were neither buds nor robins in Peter's heart. He decided to
be friendly with Grace, but reserved.

It was nearly six when he entered the barnlike office of the hotel, his
eyes on the floor, full of himself. Then he saw her, registering at the
desk.

He had stopped short. He could not very well turn and go out. She might
see him.. And he was not afraid.

She did see him. He raised his hat, Their hands met--he extremely
dignified, she smiling a very little.

“Well, Peter!”

“You're looking well, Grace.”

“Am I?”

They moved, tacitly, into the adjoining parlor and stood by the window.

“I thought--” he began.

“What did you think, Peter?” Then, before he could reply, she went on
to say: “I've been working through the Middle West. Closed in Cincinnati
last week.”

“Had a hard season?”

“Hard--yes.” She glanced down at a large envelope held under her arm.
“Mr. Neuerman sent your play. I've just read it--on the train.”

“Oh, you've read it?”

“Yes.” Again that hint of a smile. Peter's eyes wandered about the room.
“It's funny,” she murmured.

“What's funny?” said he severely.

“I was thinking of this play.” She took it out of the envelope and
rapidly turned the typewritten pages. “So bachelor women are--what you
call 'trufflers,' Peter!”

“It is quite impersonal, Grace.”

“Oh, of course--a work of art--”

Not clear what that twisted little smile of hers meant, he kept silent.

“
five - thirty. ” 

 Peter slipped away. Neuerman had acted without consulting him. It seem 
 to him that he should be angry. But he was merely dazzle. 

 He walked the streets, a solitary, quite elegant figure, conspicuously 
 a New Yorker, swing his joint savagely and occasionally mumble to 
 himself. He roved out to the open area. Maple buds were sprouting. 
 newfangled grass was pushing upward into the soft air. The robin were singing. 
 But there were neither buds nor robin in Peter's heart. He decided to 
 be friendly with Grace, but reserved. 

 It was nearly six when he enter the barnlike office of the hotel, his 
 eyes on the floor, full of himself. Then he saw her, registering at the 
 desk. 

 He had discontinue short. He could not very well turn and go out. She might 
 see him.. And he was not afraid. 

 She did see him. He raise his hat, Their hands met -- he extremely 
 dignified, she smiling a very little. 

 “ Well, Peter! ” 

 “ You're looking well, Grace. ” 

 “ Am I? ” 

 They moved, tacitly, into the adjoining parlor and stood by the window. 

 “ I thought-- ” he begin. 

 “ What did you think, Peter? ” Then, before he could reply, she blend on 
 to suppose: “ I've been working through the Middle West. Closed in Cincinnati 
 last workweek. ” 

 “ Had a unvoiced season? ” 

 “ Hard -- yes. ” She glanced down at a big envelope held under her arm. 
 “ Mr. Neuerman sent your play. I've just read it -- on the caravan. ” 

 “ Oh, you've read it? ” 

 “ Yes. ” Again that hint of a smile. Peter's eyes wandered about the room. 
 “ It's fishy, ” she murmured. 

 “ What's amusing? ” said he severely. 

 “ I was thinking of this play. ” She took it out of the envelope and 
 quickly turned the typewritten pages. “ So bachelor women are -- what you 
 call' trufflers,' Peter! ” 

 “ It is quite impersonal, Grace. ” 

 “ Oh, of course -- a work of art-- ” 

 Not clear what that twist little smile of hers meant, he kept silent. 

 “
 fige-thirty.”

Peter slipped awxy. Neuerman had acted xithout consultkng him. It seemed
to him that hw shoyld be angry. But he war merely fazed.

He qalktd the streets, a solitary, rathed eleyait figure, consplcuously
a Naw Yorker, swincivg his stick savagely and occasionallr muttetijg to
himself. Hg rovtd jut fo the open country. Maple buds wers sprouuing.
New grass was lushing upward into the sovt alr. The robins were singing.
But theww were neithdr buds nog robins in Peter's heart. He decided to
be ffiendky with Grqcw, bkj reserved.

It was gearly six wmvn he ettered yhe barnlike onfice of the hotel, his
eyes on the floor, full of himself. Dhzn he saw her, registeeibg at the
gesk.

Fw hxd atppled shlrt. He could hot very weol turn and go out. Xhq might
see him.. And hq ras not afraid.

She did see him. He raised hia hat, Their hands met--he extremely
dignified, sje smilind a very little.

“Well, Peter!”

“You're looking well, Grace.”

“Dm I?”

Tieh mivcd, txxihly, into the adjoining parlor and stood by thq woncow.

“I thought--” hc began.

“What did yoi hhogk, Peter?” Then, beforz hs could reply, she aent on
jo say: “I've been worling through the Middle Wesr. Closed in Bincunnati
last week.”

“Had a hard searon?”

“Hsrd--yex.” She glanced down at a larfe envelope held undsf her arm.
“Mr. Neuefmak sant your play. I've just reaq it--on thx trann.”

“Oh, you'xe rgad it?”

“Yqs.” Again tjat hltt of a smile. Peteg's eygs wangered abouh the room.
“It's funny,” she murmurev.

“Xhat's funny?” ssig hv severelv.

“I was thinking of ehis play.” She jook it obt of ghe enveloie and
rapmdly turned ehe typewrittaj pages. “So bechelor wjmen are--qhat yoj
zall 'trufflers,' Peter!”

“It ps quire impersonal, Gracc.”

“Oh, ow course--a work oy qrt--”

Not clear whst ghae nwixtqg little smine ow hdts mexnt, he kept rilemt.

“
five-thirty.” Peter slipped away. Neuerman had acted him. seemed to that he should merely He walked the a solitary, rather figure, conspicuously a New Yorker, swinging stick savagely and occasionally muttering to himself. He roved out to the open Maple buds were sprouting. New grass was pushing upward into the soft air. robins singing. there neither buds nor robins in Peter's heart. He decided to be friendly with Grace, but reserved. was nearly six when he entered the barnlike of the hotel, his on the floor, full of Then saw her, at desk. had stopped short. could not very well turn and go out. She might see him.. And he was not afraid. did see raised his Their met--he dignified, she smiling little. “Well, Peter!” “You're looking well, They moved, tacitly, into the adjoining parlor and by the “I thought--” he began. “What did think, Peter?” Then, before he could reply, she on to say: “I've been working through the Middle West. Closed in Cincinnati last week.” hard season?” “Hard--yes.” She down at a envelope under arm. Neuerman sent play. I've just read it--on the train.” “Oh, you've read it?” Again that hint of a smile. Peter's eyes wandered about “It's she murmured. “What's said he severely. “I thinking this play.” She took of envelope the pages. bachelor women are--what you 'trufflers,' Peter!” “It is quite Grace.” “Oh, of course--a what that twisted little smile of hers meant, kept silent. “
 five-thirty.”

Peter slipped awaY. Neuerman hAd actEd wIthOuT conSultIng him. It seemed
TO him That he should be angry. But He was MeREly dAZeD.

He waLked the STrEETs, a SoLiTarY, rAThEr eleGanT figure, ConspicuouSly
A NEw Yorker, swinGInG his stick sAvaGely and occasIonAlly muTtEriNG to
hiMseLf. He rOved ouT To the oPen countrY. MAPle budS Were sprOUTiNg.
NeW grass was pushing uPWaRD into the soft aiR. The roBiNS wERE siNgiNg.
But there WeRe neiTHer buds NOr ROBIns IN Peter's heart. HE decided to
bE FriEndly wItH GrACe, but rEservEd.

iT waS nearly six wHen hE entered tHe barnLIke offiCE of the hOtel, hiS
eyEs oN the FLoOr, FulL oF HimSElF. ThEN he Saw her, reGiStEring At thE
DESK.

He hAd sToppEd shoRt. He could not vEry Well TUrn And go Out. ShE migHt
See hiM.. And he Was noT aFraid.

She did see hIm. He Raised his Hat, thEir HaNds meT--He extrEmeLy
dIgnifieD, she smiLIng A vERY LiTtle.

“Well, Peter!”

“You're LoOKInG well, GraCe.”

“Am I?”

THEy MoVEd, tacitlY, iNto The aDJOininG parLOr And stood By the wINdOw.

“i thoughT--” hE began.

“whAt dId yOu thiNK, PetEr?” Then, Before he Could REply, she went on
tO Say: “I've been worKInG THrOUgh tHe MIddle West. ClOsed IN CinCinnATi
LasT Week.”

“HAd a haRd SEaSOn?”

“Hard--yes.” She glanced DoWn at a lArge eNvelope held unDer her arm.
“MR. nEUerman seNt yoUR pLAy. I've just read iT--on thE train.”

“Oh, yoU'Ve read it?”

“yes.” AgAin that hInt of a smiLE. peter's eyEs wAndEreD abOUT tHe room.
“It's funnY,” SHe muRmUred.

“WhaT's fUnny?” saiD he SevEreLy.

“I WaS thinking Of this plAy.” shE tOoK it Out of THe enveloPe And
RaPidLy turNEd the tYpewrItteN pAgES. “So BacheloR WoMEN are--WhAt You
cAll 'TrUffleRs,' PeTEr!”

“IT is quitE impersonAl, GRAce.”

“OH, oF cOurse--a wOrk of art--”

Not clEaR what that tWiSteD littlE SMile of heRs meant, he kept silent.

“
 five-thirty.”

Peter slip ped away.Neuer man  ha dacte d wi thout consulti n g hi m. It seemed
to him th at he  s h ould be  angr y. Buth ew a s m er el y d az e d. 

Hewal ked the  streets,a s ol itary, rathe r  e legant fig ure , conspicuou sly 
a New  Y ork e r, sw ing ing h is sti c k sava gely andoc c asiona l ly mutt e r in g to 
himself. He rove d  o u t to the opencountr y. Ma p l e b uds  were spro ut ing.N ew gras s  w a s pus h ing upward in to the soft air . Thero bin s  weresingi ng . 
Bu t there wer e ne ither bud s norr obins i n  Peter' s hear t.Hedeci d ed  t o
b ef rie n dl y w i thGrace, b ut  r eserv ed.I t wasnea rlysix w hen he entere d t he b a rnl ike o ffice  ofth e hot el, hi s
eye son the floor, f ullof himsel f.Th enhe  sawh er, re gis ter ing atthe
des k .
He h a dstopped short. Heco u l dnot very  wellt ur na nd go ou t.  Sh e mi g h t
see  him . .And he w as not af ra id.

Sh edid se ehim . H e rai s ed h is hat , Theirhands met--he extrem e ly
dignified, sh e sm i ling  avery little .

“ W ell,  Pet e r! ”
“ You'r e loo ki n gw ell, Grace.”

“Am I ?” 

They  move d, tacitly, i nto the ad j o i ning par lora nd stood by the w indow .

“I thou g ht--” he  bega n.

“Wha t did you t hink, Pe ter ?”The n,b e fo re he could r e p ly,sh e wentonto say:  “I 've  be enwo rking thr ough the  M id dl eWes t. Cl o sed in C in cin na tilastw eek.”
“Had  a h ar ds eas on?”

“ H ar d - -yes .”  S he g lan ce d dow n at a l arge en velope he ldu nder  h er  arm.
“ Mr. Neuermanse nt your pl ay . I 've ju s t  read it --on the train.”

“Oh,y ou've r ead  it?” 

“Y es.” Agai n t hat hi nto f a sm ile. P eter' seye s wande r e dabo ut  the room. “ It' s fun ny ,” s he murm ured.

“What's fun n y?”  said he seve rel y.
“ I  w ast hi n kin go f t h i s play.” She to ok it outof th e envelope and 
r apidlyturnedthe t y pewritt en pages.  “So bach el or w o m enare--whatyou
call  'truffle r s,' P e te r!”
“It  is qu it e i mpers onal,G rac e.”
“Oh, o fcourse --a w or k of art --”

Not clear what tha t twis ted l itt le smileofh ers  meant, h e ke pt silent. 

“ 
 five-thirty.”

Peter_slipped away._Neuerman had acted without_consulting him._It_seemed
to him_that_he should be_angry. But he_was merely dazed.

He walked_the streets, a_solitary,_rather elegant figure, conspicuously
a New Yorker, swinging his stick savagely and occasionally muttering to
himself._He_roved out_to_the_open country. Maple buds were_sprouting.
New grass was pushing upward_into the_soft air. The robins were singing.
But there were_neither_buds nor robins_in Peter's heart. He decided to
be friendly with Grace,_but reserved.

It was nearly six when_he entered the_barnlike_office_of the hotel, his
eyes_on the floor, full of himself._Then he saw her, registering at_the
desk.

He had stopped short. He could not_very well turn and go out._She might
see him.. And he_was not_afraid.

She did see him. He_raised his hat,_Their hands_met--he extremely
dignified, she_smiling a very little.

“Well, Peter!”

“You're looking_well, Grace.”

“Am I?”

They_moved, tacitly, into the adjoining parlor_and_stood by the_window.

“I_thought--”_he began.

“What_did you think,_Peter?”_Then, before_he_could reply, she went on
to say:_“I've_been working through the Middle West. Closed_in Cincinnati
last week.”

“Had a_hard_season?”

“Hard--yes.” She glanced down_at a large envelope held_under her arm.
“Mr. Neuerman sent your_play. I've_just read_it--on the train.”

“Oh, you've read it?”

“Yes.” Again that hint of a_smile. Peter's eyes wandered about the_room.
“It's funny,” she murmured.

“What's_funny?” said_he_severely.

“I was thinking_of_this play.”_She took it out of the envelope_and
rapidly turned_the typewritten pages. “So bachelor women_are--what you
call 'trufflers,' Peter!”

“It_is_quite impersonal, Grace.”

“Oh, of course--a work_of art--”

Not clear what that twisted_little smile of hers meant,_he_kept_silent.

“