She could not see clearly. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. He wondered why she thought love made people happy, and began to talk of the smilax and pinks that adorned the table. There must be something we can do. "And I'll bet a doughnut that boy in his soul is crazy to have it over with. Spurlock had better stick to the bungalow.
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