He slipped it on her finger, got up and sat beside her, kissing her little cold hands. She leaned against his shoulder—he put his arm about her. A poignant sweetness seemed to flood in on them out of the solemn, mellow night.
Peter was the first to stir. “I must get you home, darling. Oh, Joanna, aren’t you too happy? I wonder if we wouldn’t be better off if we were resting like this, our arms close about each other, in our grave.”
The inevitable separation came the next day. Joanna was cold, almost indifferent. It was the way she had taught herself to endure pain. She hated always to leave Peter, particularly if she were returning to New York. The excitement of visiting other places healed her loneliness. Sometimes she wished she weren’t going to see Peter for these brief visits which lacerated her so.
Unfortunately her lover did not understand this. “How can she melt like she did last night and then leave me so cool and composed this morning?” he wondered, staring dejectedly after the departing express. He had not ridden to West Philadelphia with her because he had to be at a hospital at Sixteenth Street at one o’clock and it was now noon.
“She used to cry when we separated.” He stood uncertainly a moment on the corner of Fifteenth and Market. “Guess I’ll go over to that little Automat on Juniper Street and snatch a mouthful. I won’t feel like eating after I see Carpenter start in on that slashing. Golly, what a steady hand he has.”
He walked through the City Hall Arcade to Juniper Street, crossed in front of Wanamaker’s and forced a passage through the teeming little byway.
The Automat was crowded. “Have to eat standing,” he thought, drawing a glass of water and seizing a knife and fork. “No, there’s an empty table.” He collected his food and began to eat.
Someone put a plate on the table beside him, rested a hand there a moment. Peter glanced at it.
“Colored. What a nice hand! Ought to have a peach of a face to match that.”
He looked up. “Maggie Ellersley! I had heard you lived here. I thought I saw you once, why—four years ago—one New Year’s night on Twentieth Street. You’ve been here ever since?”
“Yes, Peter. Oh, it’s so nice to see you!”
“Isn’t it, though! I mean isn’t it great to see somebody from home? I’ve just seen Joanna off.”
Her face stiffened at that. But he was busy looking at his watch.
“Ten minutes more! Look here, Maggie, what’d you drop us all that way for? How’s your husband?”
She answered his second question. “I haven’t any.”
He glanced at her apologetically, ashamed of his levity. “Is he dead?”
“No,” said Maggie woodenly. “I’ve left him!”
“Oh!” he was embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Maggie. Got to run now. When may I see you again?”
His engaging manner brought back the old days. “Peter, you aren’t ashamed of me?”
“My dear girl!” He was younger than she and for that reason he adopted a paternal air, patting her on the shoulder. “How can you ask that?”
“Would you come to see me tonight, Peter? Come to dinner?”
“Try me. What’s the address?”
She gave it to him. “That’s Fifteenth and Fitzwater.”
“Yes, I know. I’ll see you at six sharp. Until then, Maggie.” He bared his curly head and flashed out the side door.
He tapped at her door at six.
“I didn’t hear you ring,” said Maggie. “Come in. This is nice, Peter.”
“I should say so. Jolly little place you’ve got here.” He settled back on the couch, stretched out his long legs. “All these years I’ve been tramping about Philadelphia, a poor homeless beggar, when I might have been coming to see you. How long have you been alone, Maggie?”
“Four and a half years.”
“Four and a half years! Why that’s—look here, how long have you been married?”
“Five years last June. I left him almost right away, or rather he left me.”
“Deserted you, you mean?”
“No, no, not that. He wanted to stay. I—I couldn’t let him.” She told him all about it. “Peter, think of it, I’d married a gambler, a common gambler. And I’d wanted so to be decent!” She wept painfully.
He put his arm about her slender shoulders. “There, there now, Maggie.”
“It’s the first time I’ve shed a tear about it. Seeing you, someone out of the old happy days, upset me. Sit here, Peter.”
“They were wonderful days, weren’t they? Remember what a bunch we were? And now we’re scattered everywhere. Joanna and Philip romping all over the country; Sylvia and Brian married; Sandy too, did you know it?”
“Yes, I read of it in the Amsterdam News.”
“You and I here. Harry Portor—do you remember him?”
“Ye‑es, big square fellow, wore glasses. He used to go skating with us, didn’t he?”
“Yes, that’s the fellow. He studied medicine, too, at Harvard. Went to Washington as intern in the Freedmen’s Hospital. I haven’t seen him for ages. What’d you leave us for so suddenly, Maggie?”
She couldn’t tell him, of all people, about Joanna.
“Oh, I don’t know, girls are crazy, I think. Well, I’m not complaining. I’m better off than I’ve ever been. That Madame Harkness—you know whom I mean?”
“The hair-woman—what about her?”
“She’s made me supervisor of three of her branch stores, here in Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington, DC. I have my little home here, my salary’s good. I make more than enough to live on. My mother doesn’t have to do anything if she doesn’t want to. And above all, I’m practically free.”
“How do you mean free?”
“I’m suing for a divorce. Lawyer Talbert has my case.”
“Oh, Mrs. Marshall’s cousin. Have you ever seen your—Mr. Neal since he left?”
“About once a year. I hadn’t seen him for a long time though, until he came here six weeks ago, just before I started divorce proceedings.” Her face changed at the thought of it.
“He didn’t threaten you, Maggie?”
“Yes and no. In his way he cares about me, though not as much as for his gambling. He’s—he’s got
