AS SHE REMEMBERED HIM (Continued from page 8) Judy had been accustomed to easy victories. Here was a man who drew forth every ounce of hope and effort she possessed. She was determined he should love and need her more than she wanted him. He treated her with a certain adoring nonchalance that was fascinating; yet she was frightened at seeing him direct her emotions so deftly, easily. As time went on and he was always there, by her side, she grew confident, even daring but never careless. On the few occasions when Brent asked her anxiously how she really felt, she admitted only as much as was necessary, thinking he would lose interest if he knew how dreadfully much she cared and how she needed him. Even after he asked her to marry him, she thought this element of suspense would hold him more securely than anything else. That had been a wonderful night, sitting in front of the fire, tired from a long day of skiing. They had talked of casual things; then, after a long silence punctuated with the crackling of the fire, he had looked at her intently. "Judy, will you marry me? I realize you don't know me very well and I shouldn't mention this so soon, but it's the way I feel, darling. I love you." And on seeing her look of astonishment, "You don't have to answer now, but please don't keep me waiting too long." Judith had been stunned, thrilled, and then elated with her triumph. This meant that he was definitely hers; she couldn't lose him now. She'd marry him eventually of course; she was sure of that; but he'd love her more if he experienced a little fear and anxiety. With this idea, she told him casually next time he asked that she couldn't say just yet. He'd have to wait a while. He'd looked at her fiercely and said, "Very well, Judy, take your time." Right then she resolved to say "yes" next time he asked next time. There was no next time. Things didn't end abruptly; they seemed to go on the same as before. He treated her in the same easy-going debonair way; but replacing a little of the devotion was a certain bitterness, apparent only to Judy. She tried to broach the subject of personal matters, but without success. He avoided serious conversations almost fearfully. He gave them no opportunity to be alone. When the evening's fun was over he'd take her swiftly home. He was still faultlessly courteous, even admiring; but there was always a note of "so what?'' in his voice and manner. Each night had brought them closer to the finish, until at last it was here. They had definitely reached the end. She didn't know if he was tired of her or if he thought she really didn't care. Tonight, as he drove away, she had wanted to call him back. Her voice seemed to rise within her, yet no sound came. Fear held it back fear of his contempt for emotional display. He disliked hysterical women; he had told her so. She remained silent and outwardly unmoved, living through the night and enduring the days that followed without protest. The days dragged by, and she stopped expecting the phone to ring; but she couldn't help listening for it. The first shock of realization wore off, and numbness took hold of her. At times she thought it was her fault. She knew it was, but she was helpless. She had been a fool, but there was no use to think of that now. It would do no good even to call him; he wasn't the type to come running back. This was the first hurt she had ever experienced, and it cut deeply. Finally, realizing the hopelessness of trying to forget, she hoarded deep inside herself memories of all the things they'd ever done; these gave her some comfort. Rumors came from different sources that Brent had been dating someone else. She was filled with rebellion. Perhaps it was just a passing fancy. It must have been if he was able to forget so soon. She summoned courage and ventured out to show the world how small and unimportant the whole matter was. Her date was a fellow who'd been trailing after her for years an old stand-by. Judy had almost learned to appreciate him when Brent came along. They went to the place where she'd first met Brent. The memories it contained made her weak, bt she was determined to convince herself and anyone who might be interested that her relations with Brent meant nothing. The evening progressed and she was feeling better, almost able to forget what an effort it was to smile and act so carefree. It seemed good to dance again; though not quite so smoothly. It wasn't until later in the evening that she saw him, sitting at the bar, alone. Her head dizzy and her heart pounding, she said, "Let's go have a drink, Jim. I'm just in the mood." She'd carry this through if it killed her. They sat up to the bar and she talked very gaily. Brent's head jerked around in the mirror as he heard her voice. Unable to endure it any longer, she turned. He looked just as he remember him tall, wonderful. "Well, for heaven's sake! If it isn't Brent Parker. I haven't seen you for ages. How are you?" She congratulated herself on the casual note. "Fine, Judy. You're looking . . . lovely." He rose to leave. She hadn't counted on that solemn tone. She turned away quickly to blink back the tears. "Thanks, Brent, I . . ." But he was gone, his broad shoulders were just disappearing through the door. Jim was talking to her now; she could barely distinguish his words. "Brent's a swell fellow. You know, Judy, I thought you rather liked him there for a while." "Really, Jim? That was silly of you, wasn't it?" Her voice was strained and hushed. The cocktail glass she was holding slipped suddenly from her fingers and smashed to bits on the floor. Twenty BURNHAM Twenty-one