It was absurd to be so nervous, Julia thought. She had changed her dress twice, searching frantically for the right note, neither dim nor spectacular, and now she was standing in her comfortable old gray chiffon, her one Paris dress, Vionnet, bought before the war. She stood there at the long mirror, pinning on a crumpled red velvet rose, but as she tried to open out the petals, she was not thinking about this, she was standing in the Hotel Louvois nearly fifteen years ago, and when the rose fell to the floor, she did not pick it up. It fell, and she let it fall, as the years had fallen leaving her now to stand here, marooned (but only for a moment, for she must look at the roast). Then they had been, it seemed, at the center of life. Everyone was in Paris; Edward dragged Damon off to meet Blum, she remembered. They came back lit up, combative, Edward as usual with a refugee in tow. How many people did he help that year with affidavits, money, above all, time, listening to the painful stories, pouring out warmth?—How long ago it was. Another world. Damon had just got his professorship and Edward was on the brink of beginning the big book, she remembered, stooping now to jab a pin into the floppy rose, but it was really too limp, better put it in the Morgan Memorial bag with the other odds and ends of life it was time to throw away. Is the roast burning? She sniffed apprehensively and, forgetting to powder her nose, fled down the stairs.

“Where have you been?” Damon asked crossly. He was looking into the oven reproachfully. He was getting out ice cubes, another reproach, as he liked her to do this for him, it made him so impatient. He was as prickly as a porcupine, and she felt at once that she must do something to change the atmosphere, but what?

“Well, I—I couldn’t decide what to wear,” she apologized.

“It doesn’t matter, does it? Edward won’t notice. He doesn’t notice anything these days.”

“It’s for myself,” she said quietly. “I need to feel armed.”

“You look very nice, you always do,” he said, but without seeing her. “Damn these cubes, Julia. Why don’t they invent something?”

“Darling, go away,” she commanded. “I’m nervous enough as it is. I’ll bring in the ice when Edward comes.” And then, as he stood there, his hands dripping, she handed him a towel and pushed him out by force.