Sorry — I — I’m late, he said with a twisted face full of feeling. We only just returned … But his explanation was drowned out; no one cared, he was here now. Harry Cunningham slapped his back and drew him into the circle of chairs. Lilian, rooted to her seat, watched as Walter Vail feigned ignorance then caught on with alarming ease. Lilian felt herself shrivel. Seeing him in the flesh wiped out some of the more dazzling qualities she remembered. He’s not as handsome as I’d thought, she reflected. In fact, he’s hardly remarkable at all. That her whole body felt charged with a current upon his arrival she did not consider. He leaned forward with the group, engrossed, with no intention whatsoever of meeting her eye.

Finally, the game broke up and the guests began to leave. After chatting with Madelaine Fenwick, Walter Vail crossed the room to where a stony-faced Lilian Eliot sat inspecting the folds in her lap.

Hello there, he said.

Lilian looked up and involuntarily smiled. You’re back, she said.

You weren’t playing, he said.

She shrugged, unable to stop smiling.

I’m sorry about last week, he said.

Lilian didn’t say anything, wanting him to stay sorry.

Something came up, he said.

Oh? she said, and found she could stop smiling.

Walter Vail did not seem especially concerned. It reminded Lilian of Arthur who didn’t care if anyone believed him or not. They were similar too in that one could not rely on Arthur either, not for practical things. For some reason Lilian had always believed that Arthur’s intentions were good, perhaps even better than most people’s. Look at how he was always pointing out unfairness. Why didn’t Rosie get more than one day off a week? Why did Mrs. Eliot ask Mrs. Amory over if she didn’t like her? True, he caused trouble, but he didn’t hide it, he admitted it. Something had to be said for that. There was Arthur now near the ivy-trimmed entryway, his thin neck straining forward, tilting his head to catch each breathy word Irene Minter uttered, as if it were too distracting to look at her directly. To Lilian, Arthur had a saintly quality mixed in with his devilish ways.

And here, standing before her, a number of the qualities belonging to Arthur seemed to appear in Walter Vail. In that light, she felt she understood Walter Vail better — he was like Arthur who meant well even though it didn’t always turn out that way. She so much did not want to be one of those girls who didn’t understand a boy.

Are you angry with me? Walter Vail said. He sat down in Arthur’s seat. He took her arm.