Charles thought about it. About all of it. “Maybe I better get a new job first. I’m not making enough at the Housing Office.”

“That’s stupid,” she said. “You don’t even work at the Housing Office. You get paid twelve thousand dollars a year for doing nothing.” She looked into his eyes. They were moving away from hers in the dark room. “That’s plenty for two people to live on.”

“What do you know?” he said. “I do my part. What are you trying to do, run my life?” He sat up in the bed and reached over to the table, feeling for a cigarette.

She knew that he was trying to get the start of an argument out of her. And she knew why he was doing it. “No,” she said resignedly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t think you can walk into my life and run it. I got along good before I met you. I can still do it too.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“You’re not the only girl in the world that wants to get married.”

She did not answer.

“I’m about the best thing that ever happened to you. And I know it.”

Now she was looking up at the darkness on the white ceiling. It was in gray and black patterns, and the gray was hard to distinguish from the black. Charles puffed on his cigarette. He was not angry and he knew it. He was just safe.

“Charles?” she said, still lying back and looking up at the patterns on the ceiling.

“Yeah.”

“Please marry me.”

Charles could feel himself getting angry. He tried not to be but it seemed no good to try. He felt like he had just run over a rabbit or a squirrel or a bird in the dark with his car and he was angry because he could not stop at once to see if it was still alive. He felt bad.

“We’ll talk about it,” he said.