For a long time they were silent. The mist on the inside of the windows condensed and raced across the glass like little rivers. Why couldn't he think of something, say something? He cleared his throat. "I guess we'd better be starting back," he said. She sat as though she hadn't heard. Well, it was done. It wouldn't have been fair to him to let things go on as they were. Unconsciously she moved closer to him and pulled her coat collar tight around her neck. She felt cold and miserable. Her throat was dry. What was the matter with her? She thought of that summer of little unimportant things like the time he thought no one was looking and had quickly turned and kissed her. She thought of the little things that had first made her think she loved him. He still had those little qualities. She turned and looked at him, at the expression on his face so much like that of a proud, hurt, bewildered puppy. Something welled up inside of her. Then she knew. She wanted to put her arms around him and tell him she was sorry, that she hadn't meant the things she said. But what could she say now? She moved over close to him and put her head on his shoulder. Her eyes were wet. He stiffened. So now she felt sorry for him. He couldn't stand that . . . They were almost home now. Funny, he didn't want to look at her, put his arm around her, or even touch her. Come to think of it, he wasn't angry any more. He wasn't so very sorry. He felt calm, almost. Funny how he could have cared about a girl so shallow. Now he could understand a lot she had done and why she had said certain things. They were at her home now; he was escorting her to the door. He unlocked the door, turned. She was facing him, eyes wet. "Oh, Bill," she sobbed. He should have kissed her then a kiss filled with bitter longing. But instead he said, "Goodnight," and turned and walked down the steps. She stood in the doorway, watching through a mist of tears as he spun the rear wheels in the gravel and drove away. (Continued from Page 11) Ah me, Creature Divine! My whole being burns with the sacred flames of immortal love. Why then is it so that we are kept in twain? Think you that the Gods find pleasure in our loneliness? Can the holding of our souls apart bring gladness to mighty Olympus? Can the agony of our separated hearts cause laughter about the Great White Throne Forgive me, my Little Slip of Wild Thyme, for these impious thoughts. You will say, I know, that I have no right to question Heaven concerning human affairs. That is because you are good and sweet and calm, while I give way to pain and strive against my unfortunate state. My only excuse is that I am in love deeply, passionately, tenderly, desperately. Let me fly to you, Sweet. Hand in hand we could dance down the years, plumb the sad, secret mysteries of life and love, build an aromatic bower and bask in the soft smiles of sturdy sons and daughters. The good life offers no solider rewards than these. Sleep will be a stranger to me until the post brings a reply from your lovely hands. I yearn for thee fiercely, Genevieve. ANSWER My Conqueror, I await thy approach. SECOND LETTER Hi, Sugar. How've you been, Kid? Had any fun lately? No, you needn't answer. Foolish question, of course. How could you have fun when we haven't been out together for ten days? But I'm going to fix that. I plan to be over your way this week-end, Baby, and are we gonna inspect the big white bulbs. I put the squeeze on the old man yesterday, and he peeled a couple of nice crisp leaves off the family cabbage; so we won't need to worry about plenty of chips to put the "Open Sesame" on the gay spots. I'll show you more big-time entertainment in one trip to the plate than most fellows would even know about if you went with them until somebody picks Ghandi's pockets. So talk into the receiver when you get a ring from the dodos who have been wasting your precious time. Tempus fugit. Don't fugit that. (Clever, ain't it? But I'm that way, you know.) Now for a little surprise, Pet, or have you thought of it too? Anyway, this is it: I have been thinking that we ought to submit to the old "I do" and'get teamed up for good. You know that I go for you in a big way, Dumpling, and I can't think of any good reason why you couldn't put up with me. I got a pretty good job, anyway one that will bring in enough potatoes to make the wolf howl in a minor key. In a few years we could have a little place grown over with flowers, a glass house where you could sit in the sun and eat rosebuds with an ivory spoon. I'd be happy, cause if I got you I'd have the world. In short, I yearn for thee, Maid. Think it over, Angel, and remember that your little bird will soon be on the wing. ANSWER. Greetings, Bashful, I may be as goofy as you seem to be, but I think you must have cast the wrong characters for your little drama of perfect bliss. You better keep off the wing, if you don't want to crack up in a bad tailspin. What if I did agree to put up with you for the rest of our lives? You might get the world, but what would I get? My guess is that you've already spent too much time sagging the hinges on our back gate. In short, I spurn thee, Lad. And don't you fugit that. (Continued from Page 8) Back in the drawing room, Eva lay face down on the couch, thinking, thinking of the purpose of her visit, and wondering if he had changed. Just a month ago, she had heard that he was married. She wondered what his wife would be like, and if he would be glad to see her. Quenton Jerome was the one man in whom Eva had ever felt more than a Platonic interest, but one can't divide one's interests if one is to be successful as a poet. And so . . . Eva reflected that all her life she had been closing doors of one kind or another, that she might continue down the narrow corridor of fame. Doors! Closed doors! Sometime, Eva reflected, she would write a poem on "doors." "Les Portes Fermer" she would call it. Perhaps it would bring Eve Destiny more fame. Doors! The platform was crowded with noisy students when the train pulled in. Young things . . . with bright eyes and fresh cheeks. They were singing the college song. In spite of her slanted hat and swagger sport suit, Eve felt quite, quite old. She wrote her name in the visitor's register . . ."Miss Eva Lankam ... ex '16. Poet." She smiled as she wrote the word "poet." None would know that it was as Eve Destiny she wrote, and they would only remember that they didn't remember anything published by Eva Lankam. They would think her a failure. Quickly she scanned the register. Jellison . . . Jenson . . . Jessop . . . Jerome. Yes, there it was . . . "Quenton J. Jerome ... ex 1916, Hedonist." Hedonist! Eva was startled. Hedonist! She determined to see him as soon as possible. "Let's see, he would be staying at the Tau Omega house." She dashed to a nearby booth and searched the telephone directory. There . . . Main 1764. "I want Main 1764, please. No, 1-7-6-4. Yes. Hello . . . may I speak to Mr. Jerome. Quenton J. Jerome. No . . . he's an alum. Yes . . . certainly. Hello! Can you guess who is speaking? No . . . no . . . well, it's Eva! . . . Yes, PAGE 20 it's really Eva! How are you? That's fine . . . Oh, I'm well. Yes? Well, that's what I called you for . . . it seems to long......Yes! . . . Yes! . . .Well, at the Princeton then at four. Yes, that'll be fine. Well, goodbye . . . Quenton." At precisely twenty minutes after four, they were on their way to Salter's for tea. "Well, Eva, you're certainly looking fine." Quenton Jerome spoke in his usual gay style. His was a lean, dark, handsome face, with a dot of a moustache; brown eyes, skeptical and tolerant; firm chin; and a willful romantic mouth. He looked just about his age . . . thirty-nine . . . but it was an interesting bit of experience, rather than any sagging muscles, which betrayed his years "Quenton, you flatterer! Whatever made you sign 'Hedonist' after your name in the directory? Surely you don't believe in indulgence ex . . ." "Well, my dear . . . I suppose I'm not really a hedonist. But, well . . . one might as well seek only pleasure, if one can keep indulgence a pleasure!" "Quenton, you old reprobate! I am shocked! I really did expect that after you married, you would settle down, and . . ." "Oh, my dear! I am settled. Too terribly settled! I'm only sorry that I didn't bring my wife along, and ther you would know . ." "Oh, not really!" "You know, Eva, I guess man is never really at peace. He neither desires to be lonely, like the gods, on one hand nor completely mated on the other! On the whole, he sides with the angels, but prefers to go a little lower . . ." "Say! Why didn't you sign yourself 'Philosopher'? But seriously, Quenton ... are men really as fickle as that? Must they always be philandering?" "Well, man must choose either the sane or the senseless. You know, the relations men have with women are pretty much the same . . . everywhere and always. It's just natural for him to want more than he has. Yes, I guess we are an inconstant lot . . ." "Quenton, you sound so different, somehow. Your arguments. So sophisticated. I hardly follow you! So you have decided to seek only happiness ..." "Absolutely, my dear! Happiness is the one thing that most people don't possess.They may have money, health, and fame . . . but still . . ." "Well after all, is happiness all that we should seek in this world? Or can we not be happy by making others happy . . ." "Leaving footprints on the sands of time, and all that sort of thing? Hardly, my dear. No, this isn't necessarily a happy world. I haven't noticed any outstanding expenditure of forethought to make me happy. But I'm sure we ought to be happy. Well, changing the subject, my dear, I surely did enjoy your last book of verse. They were beautiful." "Thank you, Quenton. I . . ." "I'm just wondering who your inspiration is. You know, I used to believe you when you said I was; but since I haven't seen you for at least three years, the last and final time you turned me down, I believe, and you have since written a number of lyrics to someone ... I really think you should confess." "There is no one." "Oh, come now, Eva ... as long as you wouldn't marry me, you may as well confess who ..." "I've told you many times, Quenton, that I shall never marry anyone. Years ago, I chose a career." "Oh! I know, Eva. And you've gone a long way up the ladder, too. But it's funny that you've never fallen in love ..." "No, I've never loved, anyone, Quenton." It was at the noon luncheon that Eva Lankam was presented to the students and "alums" as Miss Eve Destiny. "We are very honored." said one of the faculty, "in having with us Miss Eve Destiny, the eminent exponent of free verse. Miss Destiny, you know, is really Miss Eva Lankam, a graduate of this college in 1916. As Eve Destiny she has achieved an enviable position in the literary world. It gives me great pleasure to present . . ." A wild burst of applause broke forth. The cats put their heads together and purred. "My dear," Mrs. Blanche Livingson said, "I've never been so surprised in all my life. Eva Lankam, Eve Destiny." Then she turned to one of the freshmen. "You know, dearie, Miss Destiny and I used to go to school together. Yes, we were great chums. Why I remember one time when she and I . . ." "Gee!" said the freshman. Mrs. Howard Belnap leaned over to the group of students across the aisle. "Isn't she adorable. So smart and chic. So different. She always was. You know, we went to school together, and I remember one time when she and I . . ." "Gosh!" said the coeds. Miss Ada Pierce was loudly informing the group around her "Yes, she always wrote the most interesting poems. I used to marvel at her when we went to college together. Oh, yes! She and I were chums. She wrote the most marvelous poem, once, called "Life." All the professors were simply astounded. I remember one time when she and I . . ." "Well!" said the group around her. Eve was very tired that night, weary of being stared at, and applauded. "I want you to meet . . ." "Yes, this is . . ." "I remember one time when . . ." Bah! Quenton had gone back. "Well, goodluck!" he had said. "Remember what I said about being happy, and I hope you really fall in love soon." Deliberately she selected a stub pen ... a very course, splattering sort of pen, and a piece of buckle vellum . . . "Forgive me, dear. Forget that in an empty hour I said I did not love you. I did lie. I loved you all the time. I longed to Feel your kisses on my lips, your cheek 'gainst mine! Yes, I loved you, but I loved fame more. I sought bright lights, and thunderings of applause, I, who held no love for any man . . . Who seemed as guttered flame and empty chalice, Sought first for fame, and honeyed words of praise. Oh! You who now have found an answering love, While down the centuries my praises go, Forgive . . . but don't forget! Have pity for my Lonesomeness! Have pity for my fame!" Rapidly she scanned the lines that she had penned. Then, smiling bitterly, she thew them into a drawer of her chest, and slowly turned the key. Sometime, she reflected, it might add another to Eve Destiny's laurels. Doors! Closed Doors! Page 21