Betsy learned a great deal about Crewel World in the next few hours: about stock, about pricing, about storage, about record keeping. Godwin told her he was gay, accepted Betsy’s indifference to it, and proved himself very knowledgeable about the workings of the shop.

They were all working in various parts of the shop when Godwin found Betsy’s practice knitting in a desk drawer. “What’s this?” he called out, holding it up as if it were a dead mouse.

“It’s mine,” admitted Betsy. “I’m still learning how.”

That made him take a second look. He stretched it sideways, examining the stitches. “Not bad for a beginner,” he said, “nice and loose. Have you been taking lessons very long?”

“Actually, that’s my first try,” she said, with less of an air of confessing to a misdemeanor than a moment before.

“Really? Then this is very nice indeed. But of course you’re Margot’s sister, so I guess a talent for needlework runs in the family. What are you going to make first?”

Betsy hadn’t really thought about it. She’d been learning as a show of support for Margot.

“A scarf’s easy and useful,” Shelly suggested.

“Okay,” she said. “A scarf.”

They went back to work and continued until lunchtime, when Shelly went next door and bought sandwiches and an herbal iced tea in celebration of the return of mild and sunny weather. Betsy was suddenly hungry and ate quickly.

While waiting for the others to finish, Godwin brought her a skein of bright red wool and showed her a clever way to cast on using two lengths of yarn. Betsy discovered the doubtful pleasures of knit two, purl two, fifty times a row with an additional odd one at each end. Very soon she decided that it wasn’t changing from knit to purl that aggravated, but the nuisance of moving the yarn from the front of the knitting to the back with each change. She felt she could make real progress if she could just knit or just purl.

“You could do that, and it would be faster,” said Godwin. “But this way it will make such a pretty pattern. You’ll see.”

Betsy allowed a little additional time for gossip after Godwin and the others had finished their sandwiches. Shelly took out a length of off-white linen on which she was painstakingly cross-stitching an angel in shades of gold, wine, and moss green, consulting a pattern printed in Xs, Os, slashes, and other symbols. Godwin produced a rip-stop nylon sports bag, from which he took his own knitting: a half-finished white cotton sock, done on three small two-ended needles. He worked swiftly with a fourth needle, using tiny gestures, as if he were tickling a kitten.

He paused to look at Shelly’s angel. “That is going to be really pretty,” he said.