Over a breakfast of scrambled eggs and mushrooms, Lindsay told Paddy about her early morning visitor. Paddy laughed and said, “She’s full of adolescent fervor about the joys of socialism at the moment. She was always an idealistic child, but now she’s found a focus, she’s unstoppable. Her parents’ marriage broke up last year, and I think we’re getting a bit of referred emotion in the politics.”

Lindsay sighed. “But she’s not a child, Paddy, and her views are perfectly sound. Don’t be so patronizing.”

“I’m not being patronizing. But in a closed world like ours, I don’t believe the opinions of one individual make a blind bit of difference.”

Lindsay, who should have known better after six years’ friendship with Paddy, allowed this red herring to set her off into a familiar fight about politics. It was an argument neither would ever win, but it still had the power to absorb. In spite of that, Lindsay found herself continually glancing toward the door. Paddy finally caught her in the act, grinned broadly, and relented.

“She’s not coming in for breakfast. She always does an hour’s work first thing in the morning, then goes for a run. She even did it when we went on holiday to Italy four years ago. You won’t see her much before ten-thirty, I’m afraid,” said Paddy.

“What makes you think I’m looking for Cordelia?”

“Who mentioned Cordelia?” asked Paddy innocently. Lindsay subsided into silence while Paddy started reading her morning paper. Lindsay felt fidgety, but was not certain if this was simply because she was in an alien environment, or because of Cordelia’s disturbing effect on her. She found herself studying the half-dozen or so other women at breakfast. Chris Jackson was deeply engrossed in a book about squash, and the two other women at her table were also reading. Lindsay’s gaze moved to Margaret Macdonald who was sitting on her own. A magazine was open by her plate, but although she kept glancing at it, she was obviously not reading. She was not eating either, and the eggs and bacon on her plate were slowly congealing. A bright red sweater emphasized the lack of color in her face. Every time someone passed her or entered the room, she started, and her eyes were troubled.

As they rose to leave, Lindsay quietly remarked, “She looks scared stiff.”

“Nervous about tonight, I suppose. Who wouldn’t be? There’s a lot hanging on it,” Paddy replied in an offhand way before bustling off to put her cast through their paces one more time before the afternoon’s performance. Left to herself, Lindsay thought again about Margaret Macdonald. Paddy’s explanation didn’t seem to go far enough. Not knowing the woman, however, there was nothing Lindsay could do to find out what was troubling the teacher so.