‘Don’t cry,’ he said, grasping her hand.

She got up and started walking away. He caught up with her. She said nothing. They strolled along the edge of the park. Thank God, he felt, that it was so dark.

After a moment he got the feeling that she was waiting for him to lead her somewhere. Until now they always had a destination when walking together. The entrance of the park was a quarter of a block ahead.

He took hold of her arm with his hand, awkwardly, as though to help her up a step. But there were no steps around and he did not know whether he should say something before slipping his whole arm inside hers. The entrance to the park was only a few yards ahead and she seemed to respond to the slightest pressure of his hand. Holding his breath he drew her slightly to the right, toward the entrance, and she obeyed. They turned into the dark path that wound down toward the little lake.

On both sides of them lay the rolling swells of earth and the still trees. The path descended between hillocks and there was no air moving at all. Passing a bench he kept his eyes straight ahead when he saw a sailor and a girl lying stretched out on it. It occurred to him that he had not been in the park at night since his boyhood. In those days there were men who wandered about among the dark bushes with flashlights, and when they found a couple in the grass they would demand money from them.

‘It’s cool in here,’ she said quietly.

‘It is, yes,’ he agreed.

Was it time, he wondered, to ask her to take him to her room, or would she be insulted? Off to the side, from out of the blackness among tall lilac bushes he heard a movement and a hastily whispered word. Gertrude seemed to change the rhythm of her breathing. He could not do it. Whatever she expected of him he knew he could not do. In the dark he saw an empty bench under an overhanging tree.

‘Want to sit down?’ he asked, thinly.

‘Sure,’she said.

A girl ran up to them as they came to the bench. She was breathless and the glow of a distant light caught her face; her mouth was soft and small, like a baby’s, her hair was a mass of little ringlets, and a brown comb clung precariously to a loose strand.

‘Gee whiz!’ she panted, right into Newman’s face. She was in terror, he saw. She jerked her head to look behind her and her curls shuddered.

‘Gee …’ she said, gulping for breath.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Gertrude asked, calmly.

‘My girl friend. Did you see a girl in a blue dirndl and sandals?’ she asked desperately.

‘No, we didn’t see anybody.’

‘Gee whiz.’ She started to cry.

‘Cut it out,’ Gertrude said annoyed. ‘Where’d you leave her?’

‘I think a sailor’s got her,’ the girl said, looking behind into the darkness again.