A new white Studebaker turned into the driveway, and at the same time, from the bottom of the hill, came shouts and laughter: Bob Carwin and Bonnie Baker tumbling into the snow. “Hey, Bobby boy, none of that, now!” “He did that on purpose.” The night sky was a rich, dark blue. It seemed to Catherine, taking deep breaths, that she smelled the richness and freshness of the dark-blue winter night. She wondered whether it was possible to know a winter night by its smell, the way you could know a summer night or an autumn night by its smell. The Studebaker stopped at the top of the drive, and under the floodlight Sonia Holmes got out. Perhaps it was possible to smell snow. It would be a white, cool, fresh smell, like the smell of a cool white sheet. Or was snow simply an absence of smell: of the sharp green aroma of grass, the faintly acrid smell of moist earth? Bev Carlotti came over to Catherine. “I can’t believe it. Do you see what she’s wearing?” Sonia Holmes went into the garage.

Roger said, “Have you seen my sled? I left it against the tree. It’s gone.”

“Oh, look!” said Catherine. She was stunned. “Was that a rabbit?” A little animal had gone hobbling across the dark upper yard.

“A cat, I think,” someone said.

“A rat,” someone else said.

“A skirt to go sledding in. Nylons; the whole bit. She kills me. She’s probably wearing heels. I suppose she thinks it’s the spring dance.”

“Well,” said Brad, “at least she didn’t come in a bathing suit.”

“Don’t bet on it. She gives me a swift pain I hate to say where. She ought to wear a sign on her chest: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair.”

“It didn’t look like a cat,” said Catherine. “Unless cats hop. Cats don’t, do they?”

“They might,” said Roger, “in the snow. They might have to. Someone stole my sled. This isn’t a bad party. At least they let you smoke.”

“You sound like my father,” said Catherine. “This party is not unwonderful.”

“This party,” said Roger, “is very unbad.”

Sonia Holmes had come to the sledding party wearing nylons. Catherine imagined her long, sleek legs glittering in the moonlight as she sledded down the path, under the dark, rich-blue sky. It seemed festive. Why not?

“Maybe she isn’t planning to go sledding,” said Brad. “I hope she is, though. It might be worth watching—especially if she falls off.”

“I bet she came to the wrong party,” said Bev. “Whoops, ’scuse me, folks. I just stopped by to use your convenience. Can someone point the way to the powder room? Cath, what on earth are you doing?”