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 for her, to-night, Lew would "pass up" Slengel; it pleased him to pass up Slengel for her. To-morrow and later—for how much longer, she could not hazard—Lew might prefer her. Ellen reckoned on no impending danger. Even Di, she remembered, for a long time had looked out for herself at parties.

Ellen, in her own room in Washington Square, was returned to the room in her home where she had made the bed upon which Jay had slept, and where she had determined to come to New York to help "hold," as long as she could, Lew Alban.

"This's a slow shop," complained Lew.

"It's early yet," said Ellen.

"Sure," agreed Lew, "but this'll never wake up. We'll move along."

Ellen studied him across the little table at which he had dined and filled himself full. Marvelously, the meal, with its attendant drink, had restored him; his cheeks no longer were slack, his body listless. Banished was the debilitated Lew of a few hours ago. He had slept during the day; now he had eaten and drunk; also he had danced—danced with Ellen, pressing her close to him, danced cheek close to hers, with her little, lithe body under his hand. But the "shop," though of his own choosing, was slow; he arose from the table.

"I like it here," said Ellen.

"I don't." Lew had lost, with his sudden restoration, something of his suavity. He put a hand under her arm and helped her up.