Nettie came further into the room and glanced at Clem. She saw that he had managed to be genuinely angry—angry in some way with her, too. She felt chilly, and walked past him to the fire.

There was an arduous silence. The fire flared and crumbled, and flared again. Resting her arm on the mantelpiece, Nettie stayed with her back to the room, in an attitude of unintended pathos.

“Oh, hell,” said Clem, concedingly. He laughed, more encouragingly, and reached into his pocket for cigarettes.

“Why are things so complicated?” Sarah asked generally. Nettie looked round at her with compassion.

“Let’s all sit down and have a brandy,” Vernon suggested.

“That’s a rather better idea,” Clem said. “Sarah—never mind. No harm done.”

She gave a nervous, relieved little laugh. “Oh, Clem. I can’t tell you how sorry— No, Vernon, of course we can’t. It’s so late. Clem, we must be going.” Suddenly active, she discovered her handbag beneath a cushion on the sofa. “Here it is.”

“Are you really leaving?” asked Clem. He took her arm. They went into the hall. Vernon followed them, but stood back at the door to let Nettie pass. They did not look at one another.

Clem was bringing coats, and Vernon’s hat, from the closet. Sarah kissed Nettie again and drew on her gloves. “Be sure to let me know how Matt is.” She let Clem kiss her cheek. “I do hope it isn’t anything serious,” she said. “Clem, dear, do forgive—”

“No harm done,” he repeated. He smiled with complete goodwill; he almost looked pleased.

Vernon took Nettie’s hand briefly and released it. He followed Sarah into the garden, and Nettie stood where he had left her, behind the open door. Clem, holding the door handle, watched them go to their car. He called good night, and waved once or twice with his free hand. Sarah called out that the grass was wet. A car door, improperly closed, was banged several times before Vernon started the engine.

When the sound of the car receded, Clem closed the front door and switched off the outside lights. He linked across the lock a small gilt chain in which May had complete confidence. Now, thought Nettie, he will hesitate and smile. Instead, he turned at once with a grave, concerned face, and took her into his arms.

They stayed this way, in silence, until Nettie drew back and leaned against the door. Clem moved forward slightly, holding her with his left arm and supporting his right on the panel above her head. “Don’t shake,” he said at last, speaking against her hair. “It isn’t complimentary.” His left arm tightened. She felt him smile. “In fact, if we didn’t know each other so well, I would say it was—downright insulting.”

“What a summer for roses,” said May. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” She laid her sewing on her knee, and took off her glasses, and sighed. As if to make her last remark irrefutable, she closed her eyes.