It was Edith's face that he had cherished through college
with a sort of detached yet affectionate admiration. He had loved to
draw her--around his room had been a dozen sketches of her--playing
golf, swimming--he could draw her pert, arresting profile with his
eyes shut.
They left Rivers' at five-thirty and parsed for a moment on the
sidewalk.
"Well," said Dean genially, "I'm all set now. Think I'll go back to
the hotel and get a shave, haircut, and massage."
"Good enough," said the other man, "I think I'll join you."
Gordon wondered if he was to be beaten after all. With difficulty he
restrained himself from turning to the man and snarling out, "Go on
away, damn you!" In despair he suspected that perhaps Dean had spoken
to him, was keeping him along in order to avoid a dispute about the
money.
They went into the Biltmore--a Biltmore alive with girls--mostly from
the West and South, the stellar d?©butantes of many cities gathered for
the dance of a famous fraternity of a famous university. But to Gordon
they were faces in a dream. He gathered together his forces for a last
appeal, was about to come out with he knew not what, when Dean
suddenly excused himself to the other man and taking Gordon's arm led
him aside.
"Gordy," he said quickly, "I've thought the whole thing over carefully
and I've decided that I can't lend you that money. I'd like to oblige
you, but I don't feel I ought to--it'd put a crimp in me for a month.
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