"Saw an old friend of yours last night," he remarked.
"Passed her in the lobby and couldn't think of her name to save my
neck. That girl you brought up to New Haven senior year."

Gordon started.

"Edith Bradin? That whom you mean?"

"'At's the one. Damn good looking. She's still sort of a pretty
doll--you know what I mean: as if you touched her she'd smear."

He surveyed his shining self complacently in the mirror, smiled
faintly, exposing a section of teeth.

"She must be twenty-three anyway," he continued.

"Twenty-two last month," said Gordon absently.

"What? Oh, last month. Well, I imagine she's down for the Gamma Psi
dance. Did you know we're having a Yale Gamma Psi dance to-night at
Delmonico's? You better come up, Gordy. Half of New Haven'll probably
be there. I can get you an invitation."

Draping himself reluctantly in fresh underwear, Dean lit a cigarette
and sat down by the open window, inspecting his calves and knees under
the morning sunshine which poured into the room.

"Sit down, Gordy," he suggested, "and tell me all about what you've
been doing and what you're doing now and everything."