Vance thought he had thrown all the "Storecraft" documents into the stove; but one day he came back and found Laura Lou with one of the advance circulars smoothed out before her on the kitchen table. She looked up with a smile.

"Oh, Vanny, why didn't you show me this before? Did your grandmother send it to you?"

He shrugged his acquiescence, and she sat gazing at the circular. "I guess it was Bunty who wrote it himself—don't you believe so?"

Vance's work had not gone well that day, and he gave an irritated laugh. "Shouldn't wonder. But you probably know his style better than I do."

The too-quick blood rushed to her cheeks, and ebbed again with the last word of his taunt. She looked at him perplexedly. "You don't like it, then—you don't think it makes enough of your grandmother?"

"Lord, yes! It makes too much—that's the trouble." He picked the leaflet up and read it slowly over, trying, out of idle curiosity, to see it from Laura Lou's point of view, which doubtless was exactly that of his grandmother. But every word nauseated him, and his sense of irony was blunted by the fact that the grotesque phrases were applied to a being whom he loved and admired. He threw the paper down contemptuously. "I suppose I could make a good living myself writing that kind of thing… ."

Laura Lou's face lit up responsively. "I'm sure you could, Vanny. I've always thought so. Bunty told me once that a good publicity writer could earn every bit as much as a best seller."

He laughed. "Pity I didn't choose that line, isn't it? Since I don't look much like being a best seller, anyhow."

She scented the sarcasm and drew back into herself, as her way was when he stung her with something unanswerable. Vance picked up the paper, tore it in bits, and walked away majestically to his desk. These women—! … Of course his work had been going badly of late—how could it be otherwise, with the endless interruptions and worries he was subjected to? A man who wanted to write ought to be free and unencumbered, or else in possession of an independent income and of a wife who could keep house without his perpetual intervention. Other fellows he knew … The thought of the other fellows woke a sudden craving in him, that craving for change, talk, variety, a general freshening-up of the point of view, which seizes upon the creative artist after a long unbroken stretch of work. He wanted the Cocoanut Tree again, and the "Loafers'," and a good talk with Frenside… . He wanted above all to get away from Laura Lou and the bungalow… .