Four days later, when the Bunch were having one of their best parties, Babbitt drove them to the skating-rink which had been laid out on the Chaloosa River.  After a thaw the streets had frozen in smooth ice.  Down those wide endless streets the wind rattled between the rows of wooden houses, and the whole Bellevue district seemed a frontier town.  Even with skid chains on all four wheels, Babbitt was afraid of sliding, and when he came to the long slide of a hill he crawled down, both brakes on.  Slewing round a corner came a less cautious car.  It skidded, it almost raked them with its rear fenders.  In relief at their escape the Bunch—­Tanis, Minnie Sonntag, Pete, Fulton Bemis—­shouted “Oh, baby,” and waved their hands to the agitated other driver.  Then Babbitt saw Professor Pumphrey laboriously crawling up hill, afoot, Staring owlishly at the revelers.  He was sure that Pumphrey recognized him and saw Tanis kiss him as she crowed, “You’re such a good driver!”

At lunch next day he probed Pumphrey with “Out last night with my brother and some friends of his.  Gosh, what driving!  Slippery ’s glass.  Thought I saw you hiking up the Bellevue Avenue Hill.”

“No, I wasn’t—­I didn’t see you,” said Pumphrey, hastily, rather guiltily.

Perhaps two days afterward Babbitt took Tanis to lunch at the Hotel Thornleigh.  She who had seemed well content to wait for him at her flat had begun to hint with melancholy smiles that he must think but little of her if he never introduced her to his friends, if he was unwilling to be seen with her except at the movies.  He thought of taking her to the “ladies’ annex” of the Athletic Club, but that was too dangerous.  He would have to introduce her and, oh, people might misunderstand and—­He compromised on the Thornleigh.

She was unusually smart, all in black:  small black tricorne hat, short black caracul coat, loose and swinging, and austere high-necked black velvet frock at a time when most street costumes were like evening gowns.  Perhaps she was too smart.  Every one in the gold and oak restaurant of the Thornleigh was staring at her as Babbitt followed her to a table.  He uneasily hoped that the head-waiter would give them a discreet place behind a pillar, but they were stationed on the center aisle.  Tanis seemed not to notice her admirers; she smiled at Babbitt with a lavish “Oh, isn’t this nice!  What a peppy-looking orchestra!” Babbitt had difficulty in being lavish in return, for two tables away he saw Vergil Gunch.  All through the meal Gunch watched them, while Babbitt watched himself being watched and lugubriously tried to keep from spoiling Tanis’s gaiety.  “I felt like a spree to-day,” she rippled.  “I love the Thornleigh, don’t you?  It’s so live and yet so—­so refined.”

He made talk about the Thornleigh, the service, the food, the people he recognized in the restaurant, all but Vergil Gunch.  There did not seem to be anything else to talk of.  He smiled conscientiously at her fluttering jests; he agreed with her that Minnie Sonntag was “so hard to get along with,” and young Pete “such a silly lazy kid, really just no good at all.”  But he himself had nothing to say.  He considered telling her his worries about Gunch, but—­“oh, gosh, it was too much work to go into the whole thing and explain about Verg and everything.”