“What children, Partridge?”

“The poor children. They used to come in buses from all over, and Mrs. Wainwright would have presents for them, and a Punch and Judy. Or a conjurer. They liked him best, I think.”

It turned out that she had Maud’s list in her sitting room, and that night I left a note for Tony: What about children’s Christmas party this year? P.A.

There was an answer for me in the morning. Reynolds passing it to me with the air of a conspirator: Go ahead. The sky’s the limit. She would want it. Tony.

I sat back and considered. What was I to do about Bessie? So far we had exchanged formal greetings when we met, but I had not spoken a dozen words to her since the night she had ordered me out of the house. But a Christmas party, even for the poor, was unthinkable without at least telling her about it.

That day I asked Reynolds to notify her, and to ask if she had any suggestions. To my surprise she came to the office. She closed the door behind her and stood there, looking uncertain. “So we’re going to have a party,” she said. “Well, thank God for something, anyhow.”

She had changed. Much of her prettiness had gone. She looked almost untidy as she stood there. The curls on top of her head had not been set, and she wore no make-up. I had an idea that she had been steadily drinking since her return, but she was sober now. For the first time I wondered if she had been drinking the night she sent me away.

I explained as best I could. Then I gave the list to her, and she looked it over. “I’ll do the buying if you like,” she said. “It will give me something to do. But when I think of a hundred and fifty smelly kids all together—”

“They won’t be smelly. It’s a real party to them.”

She took the list and got up. The momentary excitement was over, and I thought she looked half sick. For the first time I felt sorry for her. She gave me no chance to say anything, however. She moved toward the door and stopped. “Some day I’ll tell you a story, Pat Abbott,” she said. “It will change your ideas about a lot of things, including Tony Wainwright. But don’t start guessing. It isn’t safe to guess around here.” She grinned. “That’s the first disinterested advice I’ve given in years. Better take it.”

She never told me the story, of course. Like Maud weeks before, she must have been tempted to come clean that day; have been divided between malice and cupidity. But, being Bessie, cupidity won. She was still hoping to pull her own chestnuts out of the fire, still hoping for a big settlement with Tony, and after it a divorce and freedom.

I was very busy the next few days. I began to feel more normal. The household brightened too. The ballroom was being opened and cleaned. Bessie went to town every day to buy gifts for the children. I sat over the telephone, and by night was glad to get back to Miss Mattie’s, to eat a peaceful dinner with her, and go to the movies or to bed. When he could Tony came there to see me, but Miss Mattie’s ideas of chaperonage were very stiff. “He’s still a married man, my dear. I must ask you to leave the living room door open.”