“You’ll want to get some rest,” Morrow said. “Tonight there’s a ball in your honor.”

Possibly nothing in Irene’s life until that point felt quite as immediately good as that bath. For one thing, the bathroom itself was a large, luxurious cave of marble and porcelain and soft Turkish towels. The water was fresh and warm, drawn for her by a reverent, wide-eyed chambermaid who added oil from a glass decanter and didn’t say a thing, not because of professional politeness but because her heart was too full for words. Then she left, and Irene sank into that tub like you might sink into heaven.

When she emerged, wrapped in a dressing gown, she was taken aback to find George Morrow at home on her sofa, smoking a cigar and nursing a glass of whiskey. He rose at once and asked if he could pour her something. Champagne, perhaps? It was legally available here in Australia, after all, and would help her sleep.

“No, thank you,” she said. “I don’t touch intoxicants.”

It came out more prim than she intended, and Morrow had the grace to set aside his glass. He urged her to the sofa, settled himself in the nearby armchair, and apologized for intruding.

She cupped an ear. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to speak louder.”

“Of course!” he barked, leaning forward a few inches, and repeated himself.

“You’re not intruding at all, Mr. Morrow. We couldn’t have made the trip without you,” she replied.

“Believe me, Miss Foster, the honor of sponsoring this historic journey was all mine.” He paused to beam. Like the rest of him, his dentistry was perfect and whispered of prosperity. “Of course, like the rest of the world, I’m only happy you’re alive and well. Alive and well,” he repeated, more loudly, because Irene was squinting with the effort of making him out.

“Oh, I guess it will all die down soon enough. I’m just an ordinary girl, after all, and I don’t much care for all the fuss.”

“An ordinary girl? Miss Foster.”

“It’s true, I’m as plain as could be. I just like to fly, that’s all.”

“Plain?” He laughed. “Don’t you see yourself at all? Plain? Ordinary? You’re extraordinary. By God, you’re the biggest sensation since Lindbergh. Those crowds out there”—he flung his arm to the window—“are here for you.”

“And Sam.”

“Sam, of course.” Mr. Morrow leaned back and set the cigar in an ashtray. Irene couldn’t help staring at his immaculate fingernails. It was funny how you forgot certain details about civilization, like how immaculate fingers could be. Now he laced them together and looked at her. He made a couple of false starts before he spoke again. “Miss Foster. Can I be candid with—”

Irene cupped her ear again. “I’m sorry.”