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night, all.” She yawned widely and ran her fingers through the rather stiff permanent in her brown hair, hair that was already beginning to show a few threads of grey.
    As she left, Elizabeth yawned, too. “If I don’t get to bed, I’ll never get to the box office by nine. Come on, kids.”
    â€œYou mean you want us to go?” Ben asked with incredulity.

    â€œIn words of one syllable, yes. It’s our turn to set tables tomorrow morning, Ben. Mind you don’t oversleep.”
    â€œAnd mind you don’t wake me when you get up, Ben,” John Peter said. He bent over Jane and gave her a quick kiss.
    â€œGood night, darling,” Jane said.
    â€œGood night, sweetheart.”
    Ben patted Elizabeth clumsily on the shoulder. “It’s a pity your attention is otherwise occupied, Liz. We might have made such a lovely couple.” Then he raised one of his peaked brows and looked around. “Where’s the charming fourth roommate, by the way?”
    Sophie shrugged; she had a petulant way of lifting her shoulders whenever she was envious or discontented that particularly annoyed Elizabeth. “Bibi is probably at the Ambassador or Irving’s,” Sophie said, “fraternizing with the professional company.”
    It’s amazing, Elizabeth thought, how Sophie can make anything she says sound unpleasant.
    Ben lounged in the doorway and said, “Why, I’ll never know. The professional company stinks. Good night, kids. See you over the canned orange juice, Liz.”
    A voice from down the stairs shouted up, “Elizabeth Jerrold!”
    Ben stuck his head out the door. “What?” he shouted back. Jane winced, as she always did at loud noises.
    â€œIs Liz there?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œMr. Canitz wants her.”

    â€œDamn it, what does he want at this time of night?” Ben said. “Tell him you’re asleep, Liz.”
    â€œBut I’m not,” Elizabeth said, and ran to the door. “Tell him I’ll be right down,” she called. Elizabeth’s voice, though she raised it only slightly, easily reached down the two flights of stairs; instinctively she understood projection and during the summer had learned to add more to her native knowledge. Then she said, not looking at the others, “He probably wants me to type some letters for him or something.”
    â€œAt this time of night?” Jane asked.
    â€œWhy not? Mr. Price had me taking dictation till two o’clock one morning.” She looked hastily in the mirror, and ran her brush over the soft brown waves that never, to Jane’s envy, had to be put up in bobby pins at night. “Well, goodbye,” she said, and hurried out the door. Ben’s clarion-clear voice floated down the stairs after her—and what Ben lacked in projection, he more than compensated for in volume—singing:

    â€œLove is a little thing
Shaped like a lizard.
It runs up and down
And tickles your gizzard.”

    Elizabeth quickened her footsteps and felt the color mounting to her cheeks.
    Kurt Canitz was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. He stood leaning against the balustrade, his dark head as sleek and beautiful as a black leopard’s, and held out his hands to her.
    â€œElizabeth,” he said, “Liebchen, sweetheart. I’m sorry I didn’t meet you after the show tonight.”

    Elizabeth said nothing.
    â€œLa Courtmont asked me to go up to the Ambassador with her for a drink and everybody else was going down to Irving’s. It was my one chance to see her alone. I wanted to talk to her about the lead in a show I’m thinking of producing this fall.” His voice was childlike and pleading.
    â€œSure,” Elizabeth said. “It’s okay, Kurt.”
    â€œShe’s certainly a beautiful creature,” Kurt said as he put his arm about Elizabeth and led her out of the Cottage. They walked through the deserted streets to