“You’re a gentleman and a scholar,” she said, and leaned back in the chair and patted the armrests. He wished she wouldn’t give up. If she asked him one more time, he’d say yes—Yes, to hell with it, let’s go—but now she was looking at the book splayed open at his feet. She reached her foot out, pinched the edge of the cover between her toes, and pulling it toward her, said, “What is this mighty tome?”

“It’s The Life of Samuel Johnson,” he said. It took on pretensions when he said it out loud. Why would he be reading such a book? “Uncle Carswall gave it to me. You know. It’s hard going.”

She picked it up and flipped through it, back to front, and imitating a man’s voice, with a stuffy, aristocratic air, repeated, “Dear sir … Dear sir … Dear sir,” and returning to her normal voice, “Oh, here’s a poem.” She scanned the page but must have found it uninteresting, because she flipped some more pages, and stopped on another. “Oh. Here’s some advice for Sundays. Rise early, and—and in order to it, go to sleep early on Saturday.” She laughed. “Examine the tenor of my life … Go to church twice … Instruct my family…”

“It was a wedding present,” Henry said. “How to be a good man, or something.”

She closed the book and hefted it in her hands. “You have so much to learn, obviously.” She smiled at him, set it down on the coffee table, and stood up. Henry stood up too. He felt as if he’d failed her, as if he’d proven himself unworthy of her, or ridiculous.

“I wish I could go out with you,” he said.

“Well,” she said. “You can.”

But he only smiled. He took up the kerosene lamp and followed her to the door, held the screen door open for her, and watched as she slipped on her deck shoes, which she’d left on the porch. Beyond her the darkness was absolute. It was hard to believe there’d be a dance in town the following night. She said, “Okay,” and slapped her thighs. It meant: last chance. And when he only nodded, she said, “Well, good night,” and he said, “Good night,” and then, “Good luck finding a dress,” and she laughed at that, and turned to leave.

Eight