Afterwards a medium-size orchestra played with uncertain enthusiasm, in keeping with the evening’s tone. Lilian was sitting before a plate of melting red, white and blue ice cream when Gilbert came to fetch her for a photograph. She smiled up at him and didn’t move. Sis Sedgwick, with a barrette in place over one ear and wearing a slim satin dress, said Lilian had to come, they were taking a picture of everyone who’d helped. Lilian protested she’d only copied a few lists and sat at some tables, but Sis had covered her ears not to hear another word.

They were herded together near the ballroom’s gold-trimmed pocket doors. Guests of the Copley Plaza milling about in the lobby stopped to satisfy their curiosity about the bright lights. They stood in the door, gaping, smiling to see people being photographed. Behind them were purposeful people on their way somewhere, scribbling notes at the marble front desk, striding off to catch a cab, or returning in pairs for the evening, longing for the elevator. Lilian watched, wishing she were among them. One dark figure passed behind the spectators and glanced in the doorway as one would who had a general interest in his surroundings. Something caught his particular interest, and he walked forward, looking up at the chandelier, and seemed to study the ceiling and plasterwork. He wore an overcoat and a beret: it was Walter Vail.

Lilian immediately looked away, feeling herself color thoroughly. She was terrified she’d catch his eye. What was he doing here? Thank goodness no one was looking, each too concerned with looking right for the photographer. After a few flashes followed by the ash-hiss of the bulb, the group broke up. The people in the doorway moved off. Lilian dared a glance in their direction and with relief saw he was gone.

Dolly Vernon who’d risked an evening dress involving gold cord came up to Lilian, looking tipsy. Come with me to the ladies’ room, she said. Since the crisis in the Vernon marriage Dolly had been drinking more, not that anyone would particularly notice, but Lilian had known the particulars. Dolly had met an Englishman on one of their trips to London and nearly left Freddie for him, fortunately coming to her senses in time. It had been the conversation more than anything, Dolly said, blushing despite herself. He could have chatted for hours. Lilian said she wouldn’t wish an Englishman on a nice American girl, and Dolly nodded, but disappointment showed around her mouth.

I’ll shoot myself if they start up again with ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,’ Dolly said.

They crossed the lobby. It was Saturday night and humming, the bellboys moving swiftly like robins.