Jessica's. It had suddenly felt very naked to her. "No thanks," Jeanne said, thrusting the words like an assault. "I came in to get a job-to get out of the rain-to-and-and not to get insulted!"

The air outside was thick and soggy. Water trembled on shop windows and cars hissed past. She could hear the taps of Jessica's shoes close behind her.

"You little idiot. Here I'm playing the good Samaritan. . . Pan ... Puck

Jack and Jill. What's eating you," she said, clutching her arm. Jeanne turned and slapped the woman hard across the mouth. "There," she said, "for both your Jack and Jill." She turned, partly stumbling up the short flight of stairs that led to a dimly lighted apartment house hallway.

The hour was anonymous grey and Jeanne felt so stiff and unrested she thought at first that she had slept through the morning. The radiator wheezed. She could hear the fly-buzz of an electric razor next door.

Sitting at the small black desk that pretended to be mahogany, she drew

one

a yellow-old sheet of paper from the drawer. With her pencil she stippled around the print on the letterhead; smiled absently at the pretty apartment facade meant to represent the one in which she roomed and wondered if it looked anything like that when it was new.

"Dear Ted," she wrote. "I'm coming home. Mother was right. I never had a chance. There are lots of pretty girls here. I . . ." She leaned over and pulled the little chain near the bulb of the lamp. As if she expected to find a brilliant thought by that dim light and finding none she snatched the paper on which she'd been writing and crumpled it in her hands.

"But Jessica said nothing to insult me," Jeanne thought, "what must she think of me? Why did I hit her?"

Again: "Dear Ted, It hasn't been easy but it's all part of the act. I'm seeing lots of New York. Don't be surprised if I drop in on you sometime this week. The show is closing and I've decided to bow out of the whole business. I . . ." Here she paused; traced her fingernail with the point of her pencil. A tear spilled on her paper, marking it with a round corrugated spot. “She tried to help me. And I hit her!" Again she crumpled the paper and threw it to the floor.

At length Jeanne walked to her window and watched the people going by. Presently they blurred; wet colors ran together. She wiped her eyes. Sounds of the street blurred too when she heard the sound of tapbeats on the cement outside. Out of the fuzz of color Jeanne saw Jessica's blonde, short cropped hair.

She stepped back suddenly; looked long at the approaching figure; then slipped her fingers down over her face and with a little start she turned to the dresser. Shaking a little she reached for her comb.