Wilfred smiled at her with quick warmth. But the suggestion of gratitude in his smile troubled Frances Mary. The roomful ceased to interest her. “You are thinking,” she said, crumbling a bit of cake, “that it is the only thing we can really share.” Wilfred’s expanding petals were slightly frost-bitten. Why would she insist on dragging his secret thoughts out into the light? He hid the damage as well as he could. “Not the only thing,” he said. “And anyhow, it’s a lot!” She remained pensive. “We tease each other so!” she murmured. “What of it?” he said; “do we not also. . . .” “Oh, don’t start on compensation,” she said. “I must have my absolutes!” “You’re a little mixed,” said Wilfred. . . . “You’re welcome to them. . . . Look here, people with such sensitive feelers as we have are bound to find marriage full of little wounds. I think we do pretty well, considering. The only settled grievance I have against you is that you worry every little difficulty like a cat with a mouse. The mice are not important.” Thrusting his feet out, he embraced hers between them unseen. This he knew was more potent with Frances Mary than yards of argument. “Can you imagine us not married to each other? Or childless?” She looked at him deeply and shook her head. “Well, then, what the hell . . . !” She sighed with appeasement; and her glance returned to embrace the room at large. “What a glittering spectacle!” “Im-hym,” said Wilfred. “Glittering’s the word. Slightly unreal. Because they’re all on parade. How wonderful if one could see a crowd of people really letting themselves out.” “But where could one see such a thing?” “I don’t know. . . . Once I saw a festa in an Italian street here. Little side street up-town. They had arches thrown across the roadway, decorated with colored lamps. And all the people’s faces wore a look of escape. They were swarming in and out of their church. . . .” “Look, Wilfred, here’s a distinguished-looking pair coming in.” Wilfred turned around in his chair—and very quickly straightened again. Confusion came striding into his contented mind, swinging a scythe. “Lord!” he said in an uncertain voice, “it’s Joe Kaplan and his wife. I hope to God they don’t see us!” She glanced at him sharply. “They’re coming this way,” she remarked. Wilfred looked down. “My back is toward them. They don’t know you.” “So that is what she’s like!” murmured Fanny. “Fortunately there is no vacant table near us,” muttered Wilfred. As he heard steps come abreast of the table, he looked out of the window. It was a harrowing moment. The steps ceased; recommenced; stopped again. Then Elaine’s clear voice: “Wilfred! I knew the back of your head!”