The Washington times., 1935-11-12

i
but if she continued to see
him it would be. Back there
tonight, in that quiet, firelit
room, she had felt again for the
second time in her life that old,
slow excitement. that vaguely
frightening but quite precious
sensation of discovering love all
over again. and she wasn't sure
she wanted to; in fact, she was
quite sure she didn't want to.
Kipp said: I'VE are almost
there and we haven't arranged
anything definite yet about to-
morrow night"
Ann turned her head and
looked at him. She knew exactly
what she had to say. She had
said it a good many times to a
good many young men. during
the last few years. She was
going to say: I'm sorry but
I'm afraid I'm busy tomorrow
night. and all this week. Why
don't you telephone me some
time next week, perhaps?" 1t
meant, I'm sorry but I've decided
I haven't any time for you.
He smiled at her. Slowly. His
black eyes raked her face with
. gentle decision. Defied her to
say it. Defied her to put him
out of her life like that. He
said: GO ahead and say it.
Say we'd better not see each
other again. Say it's safer not
to. Say you've been in love be-
fore and consider yourself damn
well out Of it. Say I have a book
to write and you'll only get in
my hair. Say it,"
Ann said it. She said: "Well,
it's true, isn't it?" And the wind
tore the words away from her
lips and flung them softly,
breathlessly in his face.
"Of course it's true!" Kipp
slowed to a stop before a tall
apartment house. A Snooty apart
ment house with a maroon and
white striped awning and a door
man in q plum-colored uniform.
"Of course it's true!" He laughed
shortly, exultantly. "I'm going
to raise the devil with your peace
of mind and you're going to raise
1t with my work. We're going
to be very, very bad for each
other. It would be much better
If we never saw each other again
until we we're very old and quite
done with life. Nevertheless, I
shall call for you tomorrow at
seven."
NO" said Ann. "you won't
do anything Of the kind. Not
tomorrow night or the next night
or any other night. Go home
and write your novel. So far as
I'm concerned you can call it a.
day!" And before he could do
anything about it, she had sped
across the pavement. past the
doorman in the plum-covered
livery. and up three shallow steps
into the tall apartment house.
For an astonished second or
two, Kipp sat quite still and
stared after her. The girl has
. temper" he remarked sadly,
land an exciting mouth. I'm
probably well out of it," And he
grinned slowly. pulled his hat
lower over his eyes and drove off.
Steve Cluett was the one thing
In AIMS life which belonged to
her past. That long ago past
when she had been a small, long
legged girl in a New England
city. Steve had lived three houses
down the street from her. she
had followed him through high
school and, after one year of col
lege, to New York. 1t was Steve
who had arranged for her to live
with Marge and it was Steve who
had helped her get her first job.
That had been six years ago.
Now she was Ann Brooks. Incor-
porated, with a dress shop on
Fifty-eighth Street and probably
making quite as much money as
he was. Which" as Steve would
have said, "is what happens in
New York when you're like that"
Meaning, of course, when you are
young and ambitious and clever
as nobody's business. Because
Ann was all these things. and
several others.
And at no time had he been in
love with her. That is. if you
discounted a brief period when
he was about 19 and hadn't
known any better. For a long
time now he had known better.
Had known beyond any doubt
that Ann was not for him. That
when she came to rest perma-
nently in some mans arms, they
would be arms perhaps no more
experienced than his but certain
ly more adequate. Ann, Steve
was willing to admit, deserved
the best. And a cockeyed young
book columnist who drank alto
Gether too much bad Scotch and
would positively never get caught
up on his sleep was certainly not
the best.
He Eaa wondering tonight If