“I have name enough for two.”

“Nor who I am.”

“I know who you will be. That’s enough.”

“Nor if I am—nice.”

“Don’t jest.”

“Nor my profession. I may be an artist’s model, soubrette, chorus lady, paid companion, waitress, manicurist, or lady’s maid.” She glanced down at her very homely dress.

“I don’t care what your profession has been. I can look into your face and see that it has been honorable. It’s going to be Mrs. King Dubignon. Look up! I love you, can’t you see it?” Her eyes, swimming in light and laughter, met his.

“You absurd boy! Do you always make love this way? Is it the custom—‘a little further down’ than Charleston and Savannah?”

“I have never before spoken of love to a girl. My lips have never touched a girl’s.” And then, “I have been waiting for you!”

A deep flush suffused her neck and face, and for the first time she betrayed confusion.

“Don’t, please!” she whispered. “It is impossible that any man could love any girl so suddenly. And I don’t like to be treated as a silly.” King had whirled suddenly and was facing her.

“Impossible? Do you know that it takes all the will power I can exert to keep from snatching you up in my arms? I resist because I don’t want to frighten you. What do I care for people, for Broadway? This is the twentieth century! We haven’t time to play guitars under windows or sit in the moonlight week after week testing our emotions. We live by faith, move by faith—faith in ourselves, first, because if we are square, that’s faith in God; and then by faith in our women. And when they are square, that’s trust in God. We don’t just meet the women He creates for us; we have known them all along. We just recognize them and take their hands in ours for eternity. My soul has been sitting at the window all my life, waiting, watching. I have found you. Name? family? occupation?—they are hung on human beings as so many garments. I don’t know any of yours, but I recognized you at 

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