I don’t believe it, said Dolly in a matter-of-fact way. She strode over to one of the desks and leaned against the counter nonchalantly in her shiny dress, waiting for the man beside her to stop writing and look up.

Lilian still had the chance to slip away but Dolly Vernon waved her over. She was trapped.

Look who’s here, Dolly said. Now I remember — Madelaine told me you were coming — your uncle’s wedding, right?

Lilian had not heard about it.

That’s right, said Walter Vail. He looked at the women, doing his best to maintain a relaxed expression. Lilian noticed it took an effort and felt glad for that. And what are you two doing here? But, of course, this is where you belong! In the heart of Boston. He did not look at Lilian.

Please, said Dolly Vernon. The Somerset is more like it.

They laughed.

We’re celebrating our congressman, said Dolly.

So I see. It was his same voice.

Lilian felt she’d turned into a stick.

Freddie Vernon flapped over carrying Dolly’s fur coat with the Wiggins behind, already in their coats. We’re off, Freddie said. Marian Wiggin regarded Walter Vail, waiting to be introduced. Lilian muttered introductions in time for them to bid farewell.

Promise you’ll call! Dolly shouted as they drifted off.

Your uncle from Lime Street? Lilian said as they walked back toward the ballroom. He stopped with her by the door. She wound the beaded ribbon of her evening bag around a finger.

It’s good to see you, he said, with a private tone in his voice.

Her face was implacable.

I don’t know if you understood why I …

She watched him, she glanced at the palm fronds, she listened.

… haven’t written to you. I wanted to but I thought …

The ribbon twisted through her fingers.

… thought it wouldn’t have been a good idea …

She nodded, unafraid. After the initial shock she was relieved to be unafraid. She could feel him coming near, and she didn’t know what he meant by it, but she wasn’t going to fear it. She would simply see. Yes, she said, you were right.

Anyway, he finished, shaking off the apology. I was hoping I would see you.

She looked at him.

You won’t believe this, he said, distressed, but I — I was just — He unfolded a crumpled piece of paper from his hand, the telegram form. Mrs. Gilbert P. Finch, it said, followed by the Joy Street address.

He did know how to throw her off, but she was determined to stay upright. We live in Brookline now, she said.

Do you?

My family’s house. My mother died a year and a half ago …

I am sorry, he said. He had a way of putting his face so it seemed as if he genuinely was.