There was a solid bar of molding nailed across the floor under the folding doors. One of the doors could be bolted into the molding, and then when the doors were fastened together they stood firm as a wall, and both the front and back rooms were sealed against drafts. Now that the doors were wide open, Mrs. Bagot could see how the edge of the rose-covered carpet lay neatly parallel with the molding and about two inches away from it. It needed only a row of footlights on this side of the molding to turn the carpet into a stage. It was a stage. She could see the children as though they were on a stage. The soles of their shoes, their knees, the palms of their hands, their necks and chins, their nostrils, their foreheads, and their straight hair — which spread out around their heads as though it were flying in the wind or with their movement, although they were motionless and there was no wind. They were watching her, looking at her and smiling. Their eyes were shining. They were waiting for her to tell them that they would be late for school, and she thought they might have been far above her on an important stage, dancing some wild, slow dance — something they made up as they went along. Bennie, the white terrier, brushed Mrs. Bagot’s legs on his way into the room to investigate the children. There was plenty of space between the doors, and Mrs. Bagot was a very small woman, but Bennie must brush against her. Bennie must brush against her every chance he got, and he must put his nose against her hand when she sat in her chair, and he must follow her anxiously to the front door and stand anxiously wagging his tail while she talked to whoever was there, and all it was was that he must at all times know that she was still herself. Verification, ascertainment, recognition, and silence — Bennie lived in the blazing humility of perfect love. And Mrs. Bagot wanted to lie down on the floor with the children and embrace them both and press them with her hands into her memory so that she might always have them before her as she had them now — alive and confident in their independence, and seeing her. They saw her. She knew they did. Their smiles were happy and secretive. They were testing her. They were waiting for her to speak. She did not speak and she did not move. She kept smiling and she almost laughed with pleasure. She pressed her dry palms together and then she clasped her hands and let them fall down to arm’s length in a gesture that seemed to say, “So this is the way it is.” Bennie smelled each child’s face and then he sat down between them. As soon as Bennie sat down, Lily jumped up.