Schroder looked at his watch. Late, perhaps she wouldn't come. Intellectual women were always the most uncertain. It was twilight. Summer bloomed incongruously in the small city park.

"She probably didn't mean it, anyway," he thought.

Ruth appeared walking calmly down the broad pavement. He watched her. She had come, but the business was still uncertain. Amorous affairs were one thing. Seduction was another. He liked her, of course. But what if she had notions about things? Love, fidelity, virtue, marriage, decency. Oh well, he could always step away and say good-bye, I'm sorry.

"Hello," he said aloud. "You're late."

"I wasn't coming."

"I didn't think so, either."

She was one of the kind who made a pretense of frankness. If you let her she would talk about sex till the cows came home, as if it were a problem in algebra. He knew the kind. Full of theories....

"Where shall we go, Paul?"

"Let's sit here a while. How's his Honor."

"I don't know. I resigned last week."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, after the Commission adjourned for the summer."

The memory of the commission made him smile.

"Goofy," he said.

She nodded. "But Judge Basine is made, don't you think?"

He took her hand.

"So you left him," he smiled. They sat in silence. He would wait for her to take the lead. She began talking as the park grew darker.

"I didn't intend coming," she said, "because I ... I know what you want."

Her voice quivered and her fingers tightened over his hand.

"But I came to tell you ... I can't. I'm not being foolish or anything. But—it isn't worth it."

He looked at her and wondered. The invitation was clear. He must begin pleading now and making love. He hesitated because she had started crying. Tears were on her cheeks.

She was remembering Basine.

"Don't," he whispered. "I wouldn't ask you to do anything like that. We've talked, of course. But that was just talk. Ruth, I love you."

"But love doesn't mean anything to you," she answered.

And the answer to that was marriage. He hesitated. Tears always stirred him. Now it was dark. He placed an arm around her. The stiffening of her body decided him.

"We'll get married," he said.

The assurance did not delight her. Marriage was something foreign. But she stood up when he asked her to and followed him. She walked along thinking of herself as if there were two Ruths. One was walking with a man—where? The other was thinking about things. But there was little to think about. If it had been Basine instead of this other, it would have been nicer. Basine was someone she knew. Paul was a stranger. But Basine had played with her. He had said nothing when she went away. Merely looked at her and nodded. His success had gone to his head. He didn't want her, even to flirt with anymore. He was too busy....

She put her arms around the stranger and wept.

It was minor tragedy. There was nothing to weep about. Nobody cared what happened to her. If there had been somebody who cared she would never have met him.

Schroder watched her and sighed.

"If you don't love me," he said.

"It's not that," she answered. She was forgetting about her tears. Her close presence to him was slowly preoccupying her. He loved her. And they would be married. It didn't matter much. But the idea made it a little easier. She kissed him, timidly at first. And then with passion.

Schroder grimaced inwardly. It was dark and she couldn't see his eyes. They were worried. He had been in love for a few minutes in the park. He would have liked to remain in love. He sat before the window thinking, Why did women insist on climaxes. Their arguments made it necessary for men to plead. The culmination was a sort of logical gesture.

He walked toward her. He would take her hand and make love. He felt sad and making love out of sadness was always an interesting diversion.

"Ruth," he whispered, "do you love me?"

She answered by embracing him.

"Always the same," he murmured to himself, "it's no use."

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