He knew when he had taken her as his mistress that she was no paragon of virtue. He had known about the negro, Money Johnson. But when he thought of her as a street-walker taking on the first comer, it made his flesh creep with revulsion. He wished he could sponge that thought from the slate of his mind. All he wanted was to enjoy Babe in peace. Why couldn’t they let him be happy with the only woman who had ever completely satisfied him?

Wayne drove up to the Riverside Drive apartment. He let himself in with his own key. Babe was not in the living room, but he found her, wearing a seductive negligée, sitting before the dressing table in the bedroom. When he saw her he suddenly realized that undoubtedly some of the comments his family had made about her were true.

But even now when he was disillusioned her beauty struck him with such force that he was ready to forget her past. He wanted to lose himself completely in his love of her.

He crossed the room to Babe and, bending down, kissed her on the cheek. It was not the passionate kiss she was expecting, and she looked up at him, wondering what could be the matter. “He looks a bit pale. Maybe it’s just a headache or something. It’ll pass off,” she thought as she continued arranging her hair.

Baldwin slipped into a lounging robe, and, lighting a cigarette, dropped into a chair by the window with an audible sigh. That sigh made Babe turn and look at him with an inquiring glance. He was so silent today.

She finished dressing, Baldwin watching her moving about the room without comment. More than half an hour passed in rather strained silence. Finally, Baldwin crushed his cigarette in the ash-stand at his elbow and leaned forward.

“You haven’t heard from that girl, Jenny, lately, have you, sweetheart?”

“Why, she called up yesterday morning, Wayne,” said Babe, “and I told her not to bother me any more, and told her that if she thought I would come across with any money, she was just out of her mind.”

“What kind of girl is she, dear?” Baldwin inquired. “Have you known her very long? Is she just a liar and a trouble-maker?”

It began to dawn on Babe that these questions were leading up to something. She wondered if that “low slut” Jenny had been telling him things.

Babe went over to him and kissed him.

“There is something worrying you, dear,” she said. “I could see that when you came in. Tell me what it is.”

“There’s no use in worrying you, sweetheart, with my troubles.”

Babe stroked his hair.

“Oh, but you’ll feel better if you tell me. If it’s trouble, share it with me. I want to help you, Wayne dear.”