What’s that? Lilian looked at him.

Why, your being here.

Lilian stood up.

It was funny about people knowing each other, she thought. It was as if there were different species of people and ones from the same group recognized each other — there was a rapt moment, an exclamation — then set about getting to know each other. But then, after a while, one saw that only bits got recognized, never the whole person, some bits by this person, other bits by that, but one was never completely connected up with another person, one was never altogether recognized, except, she supposed, by oneself.

She’s good fun, Walter Vail was saying. He leaned forward, trying to be amusing. She likes women actually. Perhaps she’ll take a shine to you.

Lilian blushed. A strange expression on his face made it lopsided, and she saw uncertainty, carelessness, and fear. She’d seen the look before on Arthur. But where she’d felt pity for Arthur, she felt something more unnerving for Walter Vail. She’d always seen the irresponsible side of him, the cad if that’s what one wanted to call it, but it had always wavered in him.

She went to the window. The view was cut off by a brick corner, though in the sliver of blue alleyway she could see it was growing dark. She sat down on the wide sill.

Won’t you take off your coat?

Lilian’s hands remained in her pockets. What do you want with me, Walter?

He smiled in explanation. Come now, he said. I mean, what’s the point? People put too much stock in promises. They’re usually lies anyway, aren’t they? What do they matter?

They matter to me.

Oh, is that the Bostonian speaking or the Puritan? said Walter Vail, trying for a laugh. Or is it the woman?

He turned to the bottles on the glass table and lifted the ice bucket lid with a blithe air. You know, I don’t think you know what a woman is.

Lilian picked up her handbag.

You’re not leaving? His face took on the expression of keen sympathy he was always so good at. But he didn’t care. Caring was beneath him. He could not have done a better job if someone had dared him not to care.

It was ridiculous to come, she said. I just wanted to —

Well, you made a mistake, said Walter Vail. Lilian seemed to hear the clap of a trap behind her.

She crossed the room. His hand floated up, but even he saw the falseness of the gesture, and let the hand drop. I am sorry, he said. He put the drink down. I don’t seem to be able to — but he wasn’t interested enough in what it was he couldn’t do, and the sentence remained unfinished.