I thank you, he said, turning his gaze to her. Whatever he looked at seemed to hold him rapt, and the thing itself took on a fascinating aspect. He sipped his tea, feet upright across the parlor rug, seeming not to have a care in the world.

Lilian got him to talk about his bird-watching, relieving some of the tension. Mr. Eliot nodded his head, having respect for the pastime, and Mrs. Eliot held her teacup at chest level, signifying interest.

Shore birds were his favorite. They were the most delicate and beautiful. He’d seen an Arctic gull this winter — very rare — blown down in a storm. He’d spotted it huddled with the other gulls out at Tuck’s Point in Manchester.

We see lots of pheasants out at Mr. Eliot’s brother’s in Brookline, said Mrs. Eliot. They pop right out of the woods.

An Asian bird, bellowed Mr. Eliot with authority.

That’s right, said Gilbert Finch, dismissing it. Pheasants fell into the same category as robins and blue jays, crows and herring gulls, birds not worth noticing. Bird watchers were more interested in songbirds or migratory birds, especially if they were indistinguishable and brown.

After Gilbert Finch was gone, Mr. Eliot headed out to the back yard to check for spring shoots. Agreeable fellow, he said with a frown.

Mrs. Eliot sat back a little on the sofa. That was your Gilbert Finch? Then I wonder who the boy was at the Moores’, she said. I’ve never seen this fellow before in my life.

27 • Lilian decides her fate

27 • Lilian decides her fate

IN EARLY JUNE Lilian sat on the steps of the veranda of the Wiggins’ house in Beverly Farms, looking down toward the rocks where Gilbert Finch and Dickie Wiggin were fishing. They’d been at it a long time, and Lilian had been watching as long, having brought out her woolwork — something for Dolly Vernon’s little boy, her third — only to botch up stitches and have to unravel. She felt she could have sat on that step and watched and watched.

That morning she and Gilbert Finch had walked to the point, hanging back from the others, and now she went over the different things he’d said. He talked about a trip he’d taken to California, riding horses through the hills and sleeping on the ground, and while it was not something Lilian was usually interested in, she found she couldn’t hear enough about it. It was fascinating. He talked about his job at the import company, and she pictured him in his office with his jacket off and his shirtsleeves bunched up as she’d seen him that day in town. Marian had told her he worked with a charity which placed young boys in homes after reform school, and she’d pressed him about it, admiring his reticence.