As for Mrs. Bagley, she did not know that she was providing part of James Holden's extraliterary education. She enjoyed the company of Tim Fisher. Hesitantly, she asked James if she could have Tim for dinner one evening, and was a bit surprised at his immediate assent. They planned the evening, cleaned the lower part of the house of every trace of its current occupancy, and James and Martha hied themselves upstairs. Dinner went with candlelight and charcoal-broiled steak--and a tray taken aloft for "Mr. Maxwell" was consumed by James and Martha. The evening went smoothly. They listened to music and danced, they sat and talked. And James listened. Tim was not the same man. He sat calm and comfortably on the low sofa with Mrs. Bagley's head on his shoulder, both of them pleasantly bemused by the dancing fireplace and with each other's company. He said, "Well, I'm glad this finally happened." "What happened?" she replied in a murmur. "Getting the invite for dinner." "Might have been sooner, I suppose. Sorry." "What took you so long?" "Just being cautious, I guess." He chuckled. "Cautious?" "Uh-huh." Tim laughed. "What's so darned funny?" "Women." "Are we such a bunch of clowns?" "Not clowns, Janet. Just funny." "All right, genius. Explain that." "A woman is a lovely creature who sends a man away so that he can't do what she wants him to do most of all." "Uh-huh." "She feeds him full of rare steak until he wants to crawl off in a corner like the family mutt and go to sleep. Once she gets him in a somnolent state, she drapes herself tastefully on his shoulder and gets soft and warm and willing." Mrs. Bagley laughed throatily. "Just start getting active," she warned, "and you'll see how fast I can beat a hasty retreat." "Janet, what _is_ with you?" "What do you mean?" "What are you hiding?" "Hiding?" "Yes, confound it, hiding!" he said, his voice turning hard. "Just who is this Charles Maxwell character, anyway?" "Tim, please--" His voice lowered again. "Janet," he said softly, "you're asking me to trust you, and at the same time you're not trusting me." "But I've nothing to hide." "Oh, stop it. I'm no schoolboy, Janet. If you have nothing to hide, why are you acting as if you were sitting on the lid?" "I still don't know what you're talking about." "Your words say so, but your tone is the icy haughtiness that dares me, mere male that I am, to call your lie. I've a half-notion to stomp upstairs and confront your mysterious Maxwell--if he indeed exists." "You mustn't. He'd--"