“Good.” He looked out the window. Two inches of snow had fallen on Manitou, light and wet. The snow clung to the roofs and ledges and was shoveled from the sidewalks in tarnished little heaps. The air smelled clear and fresh. It looked clear, so brilliant it was not possible to miss the difference in the air. Here you could feel healthy, alert, and eager. The atmosphere in Port Smith was something that had to be overcome.

At the office he tried to get Karen on the telephone, but she was between stops at schools, en route to High View. He asked the secretary if Mrs. Leland would be available in the afternoon. She was scheduled to attend a pageant at a junior high on Clifford Heights. He said that he had no message, and hung up.

Florence had made his appointment with Betty Kaminsky for noon in the lobby of the Manitou Hotel. Leland made sure that he was on time. Betty Kaminsky came in five minutes later, and for a moment he did not want to believe it was her. She had been sick on Tuesday, but improved health alone could not account for such a change. Part of it was her clothing, which was well made and expensive and enhanced her red hair and very fair skin. Another part was her height: although her legs did not seem quite so long, she looked taller than he had reckoned on Tuesday, as tall as Karen. Her illness, the robe, slippers, and so on, had worked to confuse him. On Tuesday she had come downstairs in spite of herself, to satisfy her curiosity. And perhaps there had been more to it. Her husband had mishandled the situation and misjudged her. It could have put some of the tiredness in her eyes. Now she looked calm and self-possessed.

She did not see him right away and he took his time crossing the lobby. She was wearing a hat, which he wanted to regard as an anachronism, but Karen had told him not long ago that hats were in fashion again. This was a small, round, flat-topped thing with a bit of net attached, the whole business a light, minted green, lighter than her medium green coat. The loose ankle-length robe she had worn on Tuesday had given only hints of the curves of her figure, Leland was learning now. As he came up she was unbuttoning her coat; she was wearing a green wool suit with three large buttons down the front. It was a tailored suit, very snugly fit, and no man would notice the buttons or color for long. Maybe she was used to men staring, or maybe staring men had helped make her the jumpy, unhealthy woman she was. It was something he never would have had the chance to learn if she had not called his office. Norma would not want to hear it, but he thought that it was something to know. The presentation Betty Kaminsky was making today compelled Leland to think that what was beneath the strong will he had seen already was a desire to be tenderly but firmly handled. He did not want to think it was in his imagination, but there was really nothing he could point out. She did not seem to fit the role—there was still a certain reserve, a coolness—but she had him thinking she could be had.