no ladies' man. He was long and lean and hard-bitten, and his supply of
conventional small talk was practically non-existent. To get the best
out of Hank, as has been said, you had to let him take his coat off and
put his feet up on the back of a second chair and reconcile yourself to
the pestiferous brand of tobacco which he affected.
Ruth conceded none of these things. Throughout the interview Hank sat
bolt upright, tucking a pair of shoes of the dreadnought class coyly
underneath his chair, and drew suspiciously at Turkish cigarettes from
Kirk's case. An air of constraint hung over the party. Again and again
Kirk hoped that Hank would embark on the epic of his life, but shyness
kept Hank dumb.
He had heard, on reaching New York, that Kirk was married, but he had
learned no details, and had conjured up in his mind the vision of a
jolly little girl of the Bohemian type, who would make a fuss over him
as Kirk's oldest friend. Confronted with Ruth, he lost a nerve which
had never before failed him. This gorgeous creature, he felt, would
never put up with those racy descriptions of wild adventures which had
endeared him to Kirk. As soon as he could decently do so, he left, and
Kirk, returning to the studio after seeing him out, sat down moodily,
trying to convince himself against his judgment that the visit had not
been such a failure after all.
Ruth was playing the piano softly. She had turned out all the lights
except one, which hung above her head, shining on her white arms as
they moved. From where he sat Kirk could see her profile. Her eyes were
half closed.
The sight of her, as it always did, sent a thrill through him, but he
was conscious of an ache behind it. He had hoped so much that Hank
would pass, and he knew that he had not. Why was it that two people so
completely one as Ruth and himself could not see Hank with the same
eyes?
He knew that she had thought him uncouth and impossible. Why could not
Hank have exerted himself more, instead of sitting there in that
stuffed way? Why could not Ruth have unbent? Why had not he himself
done something to save the situation? Of the three, he blamed himself
most. He was the one who should have taken the lead and made things
pleasant for everybody instead of forcing out conversational
platitudes.
Once or twice he had caught Hank's eye, and had hated himself for
understanding what it said and not being able to deny it. He had marked
the end of their old relationship, the parting of the ways, and that a
tragedy had been played out that night.
He found himself thinking of Hank as of a friend who had died. What
times they had had! How smoothly they had got on together! He could not
recall a single occasion on which they had fallen out, from the time
when they had fought as boys at the prep. school and cemented their
friendship the next day. After that there had been periods when they
had parted, sometimes for more than a year, but they had always come
together again and picked up the threads as neatly as if there had been
no gap in their intimacy.
He had gone to college: Hank had started on the roving life which
