“No, the way you want. Mr. Miller told me that you never mentioned your personal life.”

“No, that isn’t right. I—well, you’re seeing for yourself. Anyway, I’m taking you to the best restaurant in town.”

“He volunteered that information about you,” she said. “I didn’t ask.”

“That’s what I expected,” he said. He wanted to prepare her for what he was going to ask at lunch. He thought he could see a real break in the tension she had brought in this morning and he did not want to spring any surprises on her. He was reminded of the careful look he had given her a moment ago. Florence could have seen it, too; he had not thought of that. Now a lapse was spreading in the conversation—he felt a near-panicky urge to pick it up again. Norma MacIver had completely forgotten her skirt, and with a genuine guilt he kept his eyes up. He did not care for thinking of how easy she was to abuse. He had called her a baby: she wasn’t, but he wanted her to be. The telephone light blinked, cutting through the web of thoughts, and as he picked up he could feel a relief. Another moment, she would have offered him a penny.

The call was from the P. S. P. D.

“It reads like this, Mr. Leland,” the rasping, tired voice said. “MacIver is clean except for a lot of parking and minor traffic summonses from ’46 to ’49. Do you want the figures?”

Leland had his paper and pencil. “Just tell me how many there are.”

“Let’s see. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Seventeen, that’s the bundle. Now we go on to Miss Colucci.”

“On December fourteenth, ’45, she was picked up in Northport riding around in a stolen car. No disposition on that.

“On April third, ’49, she was Drunk and Disorderly in a gin mill downtown. There were additional charges of malicious mischief and disturbing the peace. She was put on two years’ probation on condition, and ordered to make full restitution for the damage she did. They hit her with the book on those charges.”

“Okay, thanks a lot.” Leland put down the receiver and swiveled to Mrs. MacIver. “It’s not so bad. If it’s where you came from, you traveled a long way—and very well, too.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself.” She smiled, flushing a little.

“Did your husband know?”

“Oh, yes. Sometimes, when he wanted to tease me, he called me ‘Dragon Lady.’ I was supposed to have mysterious criminal connections. One time he came home with a cheongsam, but that was something else again.”

“You’ll have to tell me what a—cheongsam?—is.”