He pulled the books out one at a time, flicking open the front covers. “Annette Bowers … Annette Bowers … A. Bowers … Annette Bowers.” He brought them to her, stacked between his palms, and put them into her grasp without releasing them. “Annette Bowers. I love you.”

“No.”

“Yes, I tell you,” he said, shaking his head and widening his eyes in imitation of her. “Did you know that—somewhere in India, I think—there are people who shake their heads as a sign of assent, instead of nodding them?” Without lowering his voice, he went on: “What have you thought about all week?”

“You,” she said gravely, with her hands about the books.

He leaned forward and kissed her brow. “Now, take your books upstairs, there’s a good girl,” he said.

She walked past him and out of the room.

“Oh, Clem, help her,” May said, coming from the kitchen and passing Nettie in the corridor.

“I can manage,” said Nettie.

May came back into the living room and sat down in an easy chair. She crossed her legs and lit a cigarette. “Do you think Nettie’s all right?” she asked Clem.

He was piling the abandoned wads of newspaper into an empty carton. “Why not?” he asked.

“Oh, sometimes she seems such a … waif. Perhaps we should do more for her, now she’s living away from home.”

He had fitted the empty boxes, ingeniously, one inside the other. “We have our own lives to lead,” he said.

May left early in the morning. Having meticulously calculated time and distance on a piece of paper, she could tell the hour at which she would reach her mother’s house, how long she must, in order not to seem hurried, linger over lunch there, and when she and Matt might reasonably be expected home. Seated neatly dressed at the wheel of the car, she gave an impression of carrying away with her all the order and assurance of the house.

Nettie, untidy in a dressing gown, received last instructions with a series of nods whose very frequency betrayed inattention. May has our day all planned, she thought, as well as her own. She has allowed for everything except what will happen. The engine started, and Nettie waved. When the car disappeared, she turned back to the house abruptly, dissociating herself from Clem.

“Can we play dominoes?” asked Kenny, the younger boy, who had been left in her charge.

“When I’m dressed,” she said.

“Doesn’t it seem a pity,” Clem said, “to waste a day like this inside?”

“We could go for a walk along the beach,” said Nettie, still addressing herself to Kenny.

“I’d rather play dominoes.”

“All right, let’s play dominoes first. We could go for a walk after lunch.”