The shapeless figure turned, taking on the outline of a woman, and then a voice he knew said, “Ian? Please, I need your help.”

It was Meredith Channing, and he went forward quickly, taking her arm with one hand, opening the door of his flat with the other. Thank God, he thought, he’d left a lamp burning. He put her into a chair, closed the door, and went to find a handkerchief, for he could see that she was crying. He gave it to her, and as she pressed it against her eyes, he said, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t know where to turn,” she answered him after a moment, her eyes still hidden behind his handkerchief. And then as if she had found the courage to say what she had come to say, she set the rumpled white square of cloth aside. He could read the anguish in her face. “My friends—I could ask any of them, and they would help me. But then they would know, you see—once the words are spoken, I can never take them back. And when they look at me, I’ll know that they remember, and I couldn’t bear that.”

He took the chair across from hers. “I’ve never judged you,” he said quietly. And waited.

“Shall I tell you a story, Ian?” she said when she was calmer. It seemed like hours later but perhaps no more than ten minutes had passed. She had stopped crying now, resigned. “Much of it may be familiar. It’s about a young man marching off to war. He was deeply in love, he said, he wanted to marry because even if the war only lasted until Christmas, he had a feeling he wouldn’t come home again. I asked him how he could say such a thing, and he smiled and said, ‘I just know.’ I begged him not to go. I even promised I would marry him, if he’d refuse to join the Army. But he had to, you see, all his friends had already enlisted, they were excited and buying uniforms and talking about glory, and he was a man, he couldn’t bear to be left behind. And I married him, because I thought if I do, he’ll have a reason to keep himself safe, a reason to defy that silly superstition, and he’ll come back. I didn’t love him, Ian. I liked him. Immensely. And so I was willing to do this for his sake, even if it meant spending the rest of my life with him. I thought, it will be worth it. We can be happy. I was young—I thought, if he’s killed, I’ll never forgive myself.”