“You work too hard, Rose. I’m against nagging, but I have to say this. Go easy on yourself. This solo isn’t that important. If it’s meant for you to be a dancer, you will. You’re a good dancer, but it’s tough out there and — ”

“I know. I know what you mean.”

She nodded. “I wish I could help you more. I want you to make it, if that’s what you want. I want you to have it all, not be like me….” She gestured to the room. “A small-time dance teacher in a one-horse town.”

Behind her eyes, there seemed to be things she could not say. How often Rose had thought Muriel had come to Bethboro for some other reason than opening a school. Muriel liked to joke that she enjoyed being a big fish in a small pond, not like New York where she was a little sardine. But Rose had seen her when she thought she wasn’t being observed, sitting alone in her half-shadowed office, gazing into space, brooding.

Now she shivered and rubbed her hands briskly over her leotard-clad arms. “Come on, get dressed. I’m going to drive you home.” “It’s okay, I can walk.”

“Not on those jellyfish legs.”

Muriel put a sweater and slacks over her leotards and threw on the big black cloak she always wore for effect. She switched off the lights and closed and locked the door. The telephone began to ring as they went down the stairs. Muriel stopped and looked undecided. “I’m fine,” Rose said. “Go back and answer it.” Muriel gave herself a shake and smiled. “Maybe it’s fated for me to miss this one,” she said. Muriel was always talking about fate.

They clumped down the stairs and outside to Muriel’s car. The air was cold, with the fresh tang of good things to come. Christmas air. Rose took a deep breath. The trees on the common sparkled with tiny golden Christmas lights. A man came toward them, hunched against the cold, wearing a ripped overcoat that had once been expensive, with a large woman’s scarf tied over the shoulders. A dirty-looking wool hat was jammed on his head. His hands, held forward as if begging, were bare.

“Who’s that?” Muriel said in a frightened voice, backing away.

“It’s only Wallace Romola. He must be freezing.”

Muriel let out a breath that frosted in the air. “Oh, him. Well, it’s his choice, isn’t it? It’s not as if he doesn’t have a home to go to.”

“I don’t think he gets along with his family.” Muriel was unsympathetic. “You can’t feel sorry for him, though, can you? He gives me the creeps.”

“He’s harmless.” Rose defended Wallace as she always did.

“That may be, but I don’t like it. He’s hanging around too much lately.”