Now as he stood in the archway, it was apparent to everyone that Berry-berry had had a good deal of liquor to drink; but no one made any mention of it. More cautious and deliberate in his movements than a sober man would be, he made every attempt to appear comfortable and easy. He walked over to Ralph, the member of the family closest at hand, and embraced him briefly. “Hi, Ralph.” His tone seemed to suggest that he had been gone only a week; but there was about him a sense of emotion deeply felt that clearly belied all of this elaborate casualness. As Berry-berry moved around the table toward Clinton, the younger boy rose quickly to his feet, and thrust his hand forward. Berry-berry pressed him close to his chest for a moment, and it was good to have that contact; but of Clinton’s five senses his eyes were the most eager for a feast. He watched Berry-berry move behind his own chair and approach Annabel.

Now the simple act that was about to take place would remain for all of his life in the eye of Clinton’s mind: an act that seemed utterly simple and at the same time infinitely mysterious.

Berry-berry and Annabel looked at each other for a long moment, a glistening look of suspension in the eyes of each of them; and then the son moved briskly forward and placed his arms about his mother. His face was buried for a moment in her hair, and then, suddenly, with an abruptness that was awkward, almost harsh, like the result of some crazy impulse, he kissed her full on the mouth. And for a moment so brief that it hardly existed at all, Clinton forgot who the man was. And he forgot who the woman was.

Then Berry-berry moved swiftly into the kitchen.

Annabel’s hands had been clenched for so long that they were now a pair of red fists, white at the knuckles. Her face, contorted with emotion, told that she was under an agony of strain. But this condition was inexplicably becoming to her. Clinton thought she often looked silly, almost ugly, when she had spent too long at her toilet, preparing too carefully her face and her attitude; but it was at moments such as these, in which she was totally unaware of herself, that Clinton was reminded of Annabel’s beauty.

Now he heard Berry-berry’s footsteps on the basement stairs. Clinton started into the kitchen to follow him, but Annabel stopped him with her hand.

Ralph said, “Just give him a minute down there, Clint.”

The three Williamses sat down again but there had been a general loss of appetite. Annabel started to pick up a water glass, but withdrew her hand. Then suddenly she burst into tears and ran upstairs.

In a moment, Clinton and Ralph heard her bedroom door slam shut.

Ralph looked at Clinton and made the steam-kettle sound that was his laughter; but it did not have much force behind it. “Nerves, you know,” he said, of Annabel. “A terrible thing for a woman; can’t help themselves.”