For the first time he voiced something of his feelings when he faced Jack Rathburne, his closest friend, across a dinner table in the University Club. The meal invited confidences as they dallied over lighted cigarettes and demi-tasse.

“Jack,” said Baldwin, “I’ve got something to tell you that is rather in the nature of a confession.”

“Good Lord!” said Jack laughingly. “What have you been up to?”

“No,” said Baldwin, “this is a serious matter so until you hear what I have to say please don’t make any comment.”

“All right, old man, I’m all attention,” answered Rathburne as he slowly sipped his coffee.

Baldwin tapped the ash from his cigarette and studied its lighted end for an instant.

“I didn’t quite tell the truth,” he said, “when I explained to you and the others about leaving the Harlem Breakfast Club so suddenly.”

Rathburne smiled.

“I thought you hadn’t.”

Baldwin frowned as though lining up in his mind what he was going to say.

“I suppose when I tell you a woman was the cause of my diving out of the place, you’ll make some stupid and cynical remark in bad French about toujours la femme.”

“Nothing was farther from my mind,” said Jack with a grin.

“Well, it was a woman. A beautiful woman. She was seated at a table in a corner of the room with a big negro, actually enjoying him, fascinated by him.”

“Do you mean that stunning blonde woman in an ermine wrap?” asked Rathburne. “I did notice her, but I didn’t see the negro.”

“Well, he came in later,” explained Baldwin. “Come to think of it, you were at the opposite side of the table. Your back was to them. How in the name of all that’s decent, Jack, could a woman like that, obviously a person of refinement, allow a black to make love to her?”

Jack crushed out his cigarette in a green-glass tray.

“A matter of taste, Wayne. In this case, a very depraved taste.”

“No, no,” said Baldwin. “I can’t believe that. There must be some other explanation. There must be some deeper motive than merely a bizarre attraction.”

Jack’s face was serious.

“I think you’ve hit it there, Wayne.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bizarre attraction. In other words, sexual preference,” replied Jack.

“No. I can’t believe it. Of course, I’ve seen plenty of white women with black men, and white men with black women, combinations that are undoubtedly the result of sexual preference. But this woman—well, I tell you, old man, she appeared different. It can’t be that with her.”

Jack looked impatient.

“What else can it be?”

Baldwin drew another cigarette from his silver monogrammed case.

“That’s just it, Jack. I don’t know. But I’d like to find out.”

He lighted his cigarette with fingers that persisted in trembling.