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Ellen could not consider the bearing of this upon the business; she could not dwell upon the effect of it upon Di. Jay Rountree was coming home; and to think of Sam Metten's fat, flabby arms about Di was to be cast, by contrast, into Jay's arms. She was cast, by her mind, into his arms, where she had never been. Startlingly this morning she longed for physical touch with him; startlingly, she felt the restraints within her broken down. She would catch them up again; she must, of course. He was coming to the office within two hours; he was in trouble again. What sort of trouble? Because of a girl?

Was he coming home from a girl whom he had held in his arms? He held other girls in his arms; many another girl, of his own sort—of course, he did.

Arms of many men enfolded Di; many kissed her. Di liked it. How could she?

Jay kissed other girls, undoubtedly. Ellen did not wonder how he could. It was different with him. The idea of it only heated her longing. She rubbed, hard, at her lips. She sat before her mirror to powder before going out and, staring at herself, she tried to imagine how she seemed to him.

She gazed at him in the pictures and realized, with a sudden throb of joy of which she could not be cheated, that she would see him and speak with him this morning, whatever happened; and hereafter each day, until the end