“Shrimp, then—whatever there is. For God’s sake.” Phil took the ice bucket from Minna and put it on a tray with the jug. They moved toward the door. “Now,” he asked her again, “what would you like?”

She would have liked to stay in the kitchen with Phil and Ronnie, although the light was too bright and there was nowhere to sit down. The kitchen chairs were covered with half-empty cartons of crackers and, in one case, with a large chalky bowl in which the dip had been mixed. Ends of celery and carrot had been left on the table, together with an open container of sour cream and two broken glasses. It was, Minna decided, like the periphery of a battlefield strewn with discarded equipment and expended ammunition. When I go into the other room, she thought, I will have to talk, and listen, and be aware of Theodore across the room.

“What can I have?” she asked Phil, as they went down the corridor.

“Anything you like. There’s punch, if you want that.” He paused to introduce Minna to a young man and a girl with a hat full of roses.

“Minna?” said the girl. “What a pretty name.”

“Her real name is Hermione,” said Ronnie, coming up with a plate of shrimp.

“Preposterous name,” Minna agreed. “I don’t know why parents do such things.”

“We called our baby Araminta,” said the girl bravely.

“‘Araminta sweet and faire…’” Phil quoted tactfully.

Minna frowned. “That’s ‘Amarantha,’” she said, and wished she hadn’t. She and Phil edged past, and found themselves at a long table, beside a bony man in black and an opulent, earnest woman in purple. “Punch would be lovely,” Minna said to Phil.

“A Browning revival,” said the man in black. “Mark my words—I forecast a Browning revival.”

The purple lady sighed. “Ah. If only you’re right.”

“Then you do like Browning?”

“Of course. Pippa Passes. And I’ve always adored The Rose and the Ring.”

The bony man looked disappointed. “That’s Thackeray. You mean The Ring and the Book.”

“I mean the one with the marvelous illustrations.”

“Rather weak, I’m afraid,” Phil said, handing Minna a full glass. “All the ice seems to have melted.” He helped someone else to punch and turned back to her. “Well, Minna—we hardly ever seem to see you. Are you very busy? Are you happy? How are you?”

“Oh, I’m well,” she said, and could not prevent herself from looking toward Theodore. He was standing not far from her, leaning his shoulder against the wall and talking to a plump man with a beard.

The bearded man looked cross. “My dear sir,” he said in a loud voice, “this is not just any Rembrandt. This is one of the greatest Rembrandts of all time.”

“Take Sordello,” the bony man was insisting. The woman in purple gazed at him with rapt inattention.