"What _is_ the matter?"

"Just me," he repeated. "I'm going loony. This whole place is like a
dream to me--this Delmonico's--"

As he talked she saw he had changed utterly. He wasn't at all light
and gay and careless--a great lethargy and discouragement had come
over him. Revulsion seized her, followed by a faint, surprising
boredom. His voice seemed to come out of a great void.

"Edith," he said, "I used to think I was clever, talented, an artist.
Now I know I'm nothing. Can't draw, Edith. Don't know why I'm telling
you this."

She nodded absently.

"I can't draw, I can't do anything. I'm poor as a church mouse." He
laughed, bitterly and rather too loud. "I've become a damn beggar, a
leech on my friends. I'm a failure. I'm poor as hell."

Her distaste was growing. She barely nodded this time, waiting for her
first possible cue to rise.

Suddenly Gordon's eyes filled with tears.

"Edith," he said, turning to her with what was evidently a strong
effort at self-control, "I can't tell you what it means to me to know
there's one person left who's interested in me."

He reached out and patted her hand, and involuntarily she drew it