I had not expected to be dismissed so soon and, clumsy in my surprise, I knocked over an ash-tray on a small table by the hearth. I bent to pick up the cigarette stubs but Hopestill said, “Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t bother about that.”

Reddening furiously, I started to the door. The doctor walked across the room with me. “I wanted to ask you,” he said, “if you still go every Sunday?”

“Of course,” I replied.

“That’s right. You’re awfully good. By the way, don’t think we’re giving you the cold shoulder. The fact is I . . . we haven’t seen one another for quite sometime. We’re very old friends, you know.”

“Yes,” I said, but my voice was unconvincing and he must have known that I was offended.

“Believe me,” he said anxiously, “you are a good girl.”

The door closed behind me. My goodness remained in the library with its advocate while I put my eye to the keyhole. The doctor was kissing Hopestill’s neck. She paid no attention to him but poked the fire and at last, lifting up her head to address the Copley, “Great God, it’s just like dancing school except that then you didn’t have that ramrod down your back! Perly, Sonia is just the girl for you and the battle is half won because she’s obviously mad about you.” She flung back her head so that her hair reached to the middle of her back and laughed heartily.

“Hush!” said Dr. McAllister. “She may be in the hall.”

I stood up quickly and went to the stairs, but I heard Hopestill pause in her laughter to say, “I meant absolutely no harm. I’m just a little giddy, and she was so incredibly solemn!” And then, as solemn as I had been, she added, “Imagine Aunt Lucy not telling her she had a cat! I swear I think the woman’s mad.”

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