… invested in the theatre, Walter Vail was saying. The fastest way to lose a fortune. But he met my mother — she was an actress then — backing a play she was in. The play went under, but he got Mimi out of it. He must wonder about his investment.

Lilian tried not to look shocked. She glanced down at Walter Vail’s hands, clasped around his leg, and saw that they were normal-size hands and thought he was not so different. She felt reassured.

He said his parents were meeting him here, and Lilian asked him why not in New York.

My mother’s cousin lives here.

In Boston? Who?

I don’t think you’d know him, Walter Vail said. He lives on Lime Street when he’s in town.

I know most of the names on the Hill, Lilian said, trying not to sound boastful.

Well, he’s called Paul Harte. An artistic type.

Is he married? Lilian said.

Walter Vail hid a smile. Ah, no, he prefers being a bachelor, a different situation altogether.

Lilian nodded with a comprehending air, but had only a vague notion of what he was getting at. Once again she came across the fact — the war made her think of it, too — that there were many different worlds far from the one she knew in Boston, though the way everyone around her behaved one would have thought Boston was the universe.

Later, sitting with a group among the cigar ashes and cold tea, Lilian watched Walter Vail across the room. He was laughing near the mantelpiece, his belt strapped across his chest, exhibiting a different, less intense personality from the one he’d shown her. Had she drawn special attention from him? It gave her a superior feeling to think so. Her thoughts were interrupted by Emmett Smith’s whining at Elsie Sears who disagreed with him about the criteria needed to make the Social Register. It was the usual talk at tea, yet Lilian felt the world was not so usual. She supposed it was the war.

As the guests were leaving Walter Vail appeared in the coatroom and grabbed Lilian’s wrist. I’d like to see you again, he said.

Was this how they did things in New York?

Well …

I mean it, he said, as if that were in question. There was a dark slant to his eyes, and she noticed a faint birthmark like a waterstain running down one cheek. He still held her wrist.

All right.

The Fenwicks used gas lamps in their hall, and in the rosy light Lilian glimpsed Madelaine Fenwick smiling, but with flat eyes, talking to a stooped fellow on his way out. She did not seem to care what her guest was doing with Lilian.

Walter Vail peered into the air. Then he thought of something. Do you skate?

Not well. Lilian thought of Madelaine Fenwick’s skating trophies.

How about skating with us tomorrow? Bring along your brother. In the afternoon?