“Because Willard lets her out of all the things that bother her now—boys, her high-powered schoolmates with their ambitions, and, above all, her bewildered parents. She thinks of me, I presume, as an all-purpose object to lean on—one who won’t criticize.”

“Nonsense, she adores you.”

“How do you know?”

“Cornelius told me so.”

“How strange it is, Eben, that after all these years you and Cornelius have become friends.”

“Do you mind?”

“A little.” At that they both laughed. “Oh dear, we’re almost there and I want to talk.”

But, after all, the bus was late, and they had a good ten minutes sitting in the jeep, waiting. Now Eben could turn in his seat and look at Christina, and reach over and take her hand.

“You know,” he said, lifting an eyebrow, “it’s no fair at all that you grow more beautiful every day.”

“I’m afraid I hoped you’d say something like that—absurd old creature that I am!” She pulled her hand away. “But I’m getting to be a wrinkled old apple, and you know it as well as I do, Eben.”

“Don’t look into mirrors, look into people’s eyes.”

“I can’t. It makes me blush.”

“After a certain age mirrors lie.”

“How?”

“They give the bare facts all right, but they leave out all the poetry.”

“It is lovely to be appreciated at any age—you are a dear.”

“I’m safe. Fifty years ago you wouldn’t have called me a dear, would you?”

“You weren’t a dear. You were a threat.”

He sighed. “Yes, I expect I was. I wanted to be, anyway.” Then, mercurial as ever, he ceased to be a teasing admirer and looked thoughtfully away. “It is rather fine that Cornelius and I have become friends. It has made the winter for me, Christina. For at last I understand why you love him. I never could get behind the bank, don’t you know—the bank and all the family looming behind him. I never really saw him until now.”

“He’s changed.”

“Changed or simply become able to show himself.”

“I’m finding old age full of miracles, Eben. I suppose that’s why I dread Cathy’s coming. This winter has been a journey inward. I want to continue the journey.”

“Well, here comes the bus! So I guess you can’t.”

“Life does have a way of interrupting philosophy,” Christina laughed, not even waiting for a hand to help her out, clambering down and running to the huge, bumbling monster that contained Cathy.

Eben stood by the jeep and watched the meeting with some amusement—the meeting of these two, so different—Christina so tall and distinguished; Cathy, short and awkward, guitar case held in one hand—but so alike in the warmth of their hugs.

“Can’t believe it, Gram! I’ve escaped!”

“Come along. You know Mr. Fifield, don’t you?”