They were sitting in Irene’s suite, where they usually met for breakfast together, since they attracted too much attention when eating in hotel dining rooms. This particular morning that suite was located on the fourth floor of the Hotel Windsor in Melbourne; they were due to leave for the aforementioned visit to Canberra by private rail car in two hours. Outside, the weather was dry and cool, a few clouds skidding across the southern sky. A pair of radiators simmered under the giant windows overlooking Parliament House. At seven thirty precisely, a pair of waiters had knocked on the door and wheeled in this round table, set for three, with coffee, eggs, toast, bacon, sausages, kippers, grilled tomatoes, grapefruit, an entire pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, and a dish of cream for Sandy, who was now famous in her own right. The eggs were soft boiled; Morrow ate his from a silver egg cup, knocking off the tops with a spoon, while Irene and Sam both emptied theirs on slices of buttered toast. Sam had already drunk four cups of coffee and smoked three cigarettes. He was in a fighting mood.

Morrow replaced his cup in the saucer. “Of course the nature of your personal friendship is none of my business, or anyone else’s. But you must be aware of the insinuations made by the more scurrilous members of the press. Any evidence, or supposed evidence, that your association is anything other than purely platonic—”

“Is none of anyone’s business, except mine and Irene’s.”

“And your wife’s,” said Morrow. “Let’s not forget about Mrs. Mallory, at home in Oakland with her daily newspaper.”

Irene set down her fork and wiped her fingers on her napkin. She looked at Sam; he was looking at her. Sandy, who had finished her cream and now curled on Sam’s lap, lifted her head and blinked her eyes.

“And your daughter too, of course,” added Morrow.

Sam picked up his cigarette and shifted back to Morrow. “All right. I take your point.”

“On the level, now. I don’t give a damn what happened between the two of you on Howland Island,” Morrow said. “We’re all human. I don’t think there’s a man alive who would blame you for letting nature take its course, in a situation like that. But now you’re back in civilization, and the eyes of the world are watching you both, every second. I advise you not to stick a fork in your chance for fame and fortune with some foolish indiscretion. Are we square?”

Sam’s face was white. He sucked on his cigarette, crushed it out in the ashtray, and poured himself another cup of coffee. “As I said, I take your point.”

Morrow turned to Irene. “Well? Irene?”

“I understand perfectly,” she said.