He mounted the stairs, moved softly across the hallway, past the hall table with its spray of roses, and entered the living room. Miriam looked magnificently fresh and beautiful in a bright-blue dress. A blue ribbon was tied prettily about her neck. Alice lay on a settee nearby in her usual jeans and sweat shirt. He felt Miriam watching him as he went across to his place. Until he was settled, Miriam’s body remained tense, as if ready to spring.

“John,” Alice said, leaning her head back, “I didn’t even hear you come in. You always sneak.” Her thirteen-year-old smile made him catch his breath. She was indeed a marvelous toy, fragile and succulent.

Miriam crashed out an arpeggio on the harpsichord. “Let’s get going,” she said.

“I don’t want to do that trio again. It’s boring.” Alice was in a typical sulky mood.

“How about the Scarlatti we were doing last week?”

Miriam went through some fingerings. “We could do it if John can keep up.”

“All the music he knows is boring.”

Miriam’s fingers flew across the keys. “I know Corelli, Abaco, Bach—” She tossed a thick book of music at Alice. “Pick whatever you want.”

There was a silence. “I barely know the Handel,” John said. “It’s hard for the cello.”

Miriam and Alice glanced at each other. “We’ll do the Handel,” Alice said. “It’s either that or finger and bow practice, right, John?” She picked up her violin and tucked it under her chin.

“I’m one of the few musicians who can do Chopsticks on the cello, dear.”

“As you always say.”

Before he had even tuned they were starting. He entered raggedly, rushing after them, overtaking and then struggling to keep his place for the rest of the piece.

They played for an hour, repeating the trio three times. John eventually began to enjoy the way it became coherent, finally beautiful. He liked the music. It seemed to fit the moment, the rich quality of the sunlight, the beauty of the women.

“Well,” Alice said when they were done, “that’s that.” She was flushed, which accentuated her incipient womanhood. A pang passed again through John’s heart.

He knew all the things Miriam was able to do to people. It was impossible to tell exactly what treatment was intended for Alice. Miriam could bless or destroy. Sometimes she would compel them to violence as a cover for her own activities. Other times, there could be unimaginable bliss.

Miriam was practical; she did what was most useful. Alice, for example, would inherit a considerable fortune, as John had. That could be the motive for Miriam’s interest. She was always short of money, and those who loved her gave her everything.