“Of course not, silly. She’s just one of these old Boston pinkos who trots up and down Beacon Hill to make speeches at State House committees and prides herself on knowing the Irish politicians by their first names and imagines that without her, no good would come of Massachusetts law. You know the type—as a matter of fact, she’s quite a darling,” Pen said unexpectedly. “I always meant to see more of her.” She smiled across at him, happy because this was like a present she could give him. “You look bemused, darling.”

“Gee, Pen, that’s wonderful,” he said again.

“I’ll call her up tomorrow.” Pen got up.

“But tomorrow isn’t this minute. Sit down again. You haven’t finished your beer.”

“I’ve got to get back and study, George. I really must,” she drank it down standing. “Come on.…”

It was the beginning of the end. Always when George saw Pen it seemed as if their meeting rose on a curve and then at a certain moment, the high point of the curve was passed. When was that moment? He had never been able to seize it, but only to realize that it was gone, that they were slipping down. In all this year they had come to no place of real understanding. Always he must wonder if she would let him kiss her at the door, just before the public dormitory world took her back again, never could he take anything for granted, even after all these months. He could feel her stiffening withdrawal as they turned in to Shepard Street and she lit a cigarette. “It’s all a game,” his roommate would say, “they do it on purpose, have it all figured out,” but Pen was not like that. There was some wild natural force in her that made her leap away at a touch like a deer. She would not say that she loved him. She would never never say it. Now as they walked side by side in the damp autumn dark, walked past the lighted houses where safely married people sat and read, had a place of their own, George felt she was a stranger, a total stranger. Talking about Cavan hadn’t helped. The only thing that might have helped would have been if he could have laid his head on her breast a moment and rested there.

“What are you laughing at?” she asked.

“Oh, the craziness of it all, the way people try to meet and communicate and never quite do,” he said bitterly.

“Yes,” she spoke quickly, “I know.”

This was the moment to take her hand and pull her towards him in one splendid masterful gesture, but he was paralyzed, paralyzed by the dormitory lights, by the imminence of parting so his throat felt dry, and he walked very fast, almost running.