“I was wondering,” she said nervously. “I knew the light would be you. I hope I didn’t wake up anybody.” Was old Sobby asleep? he wondered.

“Would you like a drink? Or do you want to go to the All-Nite and get a Coca-Cola?” he said.

“It’s open,” she said, making a gesture with her hand. “The All-Nite’s open—I just passed it.”

They went out into the mist, and she put his coat on with silent protest, in the dark street not drunken but womanly.

“You didn’t remember me at the party,” she said, and did not look up when he made his exclamation. “They say you never forget anybody, so I found out they were wrong about that anyway.”

“They’re often wrong,” he said, and then hurriedly, “Who are you?”

“We used to stay at the Manning Hotel on the Coast every summer—I wasn’t grown. Carol Thames. Just dances and all, but you had just started to travel then, it was on your trips, and you—you talked at intermission.”

He laughed shortly, but she added:

“You talked about yourself.”

They walked past the tall wet church, and their steps echoed.

“Oh, it wasn’t so long ago—five years,” she said. Under a magnolia tree she put her hand out and stopped him, looking up at him with her child’s face. “But when I saw you again tonight I wanted to know how you were getting along.”

He said nothing, and she went on.

“You used to play the piano.”

They passed under a street light, and she glanced up as if to look for the little tic in his cheek.

“Out on the big porch where they danced,” she said, walking on. “Paper lanterns . . .”

“I’d forgotten that, is one thing sure,” he said. “Maybe you’ve got the wrong man. I’ve got cousins galore who all play the piano.”

“You’d put your hands down on the keyboard like you’d say, ‘Now this is how it really is!’” she cried, and turned her head away. “I guess I was crazy about you, though.”

“Crazy about me then?” He struck a match and held a cigarette between his teeth.

“No—yes, and now too!” she cried sharply, as if driven to deny him.

They came to the little depot where a restless switch engine was hissing, and crossed the black street. The past and present joined like this, he thought, it never happened often to me, and it probably won’t happen again. He took her arm and led her through the dirty screen door of the All-Nite.

He waited at the counter while she sat down by the wall table and wiped her face all over with her handkerchief. He carried the black coffees over to the table himself, smiling at her from a little distance. They sat under a calendar with some picture of giant trees being cut down.