She rolled her eyes and made the motion of whistling through her teeth. There was nothing the matter. “Steffie is home today,” she said. “Her stomach is bothering her.”

“I know. I called, trying to catch you. It was the hot dogs. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“All right. Are you coming to dinner?”

“I’ll be there at five o’clock. I may have to go out again to relieve some people—oh, we have a lot of sickness today—but I’ll be back.”

“Good,” she said quietly. “Did you see the Herald-Press?”

“Yes, don’t remind me. We have a new client,” he said turning to Mrs. MacIver. “Karen, this is Mrs. Colin MacIver, of Port Smith. Mrs. MacIver, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Leland.”

“How do you do?” Karen liked to shake hands. Mrs. MacIver reached up. She was still nervous. It took her time to get in stride.

“Hello,” she said, and smiled.

“I have to get back, dear,” Karen said to him. “This woman came in with her list of books just knowing I was one of the enemy. The list starts with The Grapes of Wrath. I could use a drink, but I don’t dare.” She kissed his cheek. “I guess that’s allowed. See you later. Mrs. MacIver, perhaps we’ll meet again.”

“Yes,” she said. “Goodbye.”

Leland sat down. Norma MacIver waited a moment. She said, “You know, when I was sick, trying to get better, I used to watch other women to see what was expected of me. I would have watched her.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, Mrs. MacIver.”

“Could we use first names?”

“Sure—Norma. Call me Joe.”

“Joe,” she said. Then, “She’s tall, isn’t she? She doesn’t look like she has a daughter—how old?”

“Thirteen. She’s five-six. It’s not really tall.”

“I can’t wait to see myself after this baby is born. I know what it’s going to do to me.”

“You don’t know about that.”

“Your wife has real charm. I wish that I had been able to tell Colin as much as she told you just now. The message was on every wavelength.”

“You sound as if you’re tired. Relax.”

“It’s catching up with me,” she said. “I was up very early this morning. What the hell?” She rubbed her forehead. “Excuse me, will you? I’m just being my old neurotic self again. ‘Could we use first names?’” she asked, parodying herself. “Who am I kidding? Now all of a sudden I’m tired. I guess I didn’t want to meet your wife after all. I like you. If I had a brain—shit. I’m sorry.”

“Suppose you just try to relax,” he said again. “It wouldn’t help if I said that I like you? That I’ve taken my looks at you?”