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all.”
    â€œI’ll be perfectly all right,” her sister said. “You go right ahead.”
    Mrs. Ransom-Jones smoothed the long black skirt of her evening dress; her dark hair was pulled up on top of her head instead of gathered at the back of her neck, and she looked very dignified and sure. She put her hand on her sister’s forehead and said, “I’m sure you’ll be all right. If we hadn’t planned it for so long.”
    â€œYou couldn’t know I’d be worse,” her sister argued. “Don’t give me a single
thought
, dear.”
    â€œBrad would be terribly disappointed,” Mrs. Ransom-Jones said. “If he were only coming home instead of meeting me in town.”
    â€œYou
look
perfectly lovely,” her sister said. “He’ll be proud of you.”
    Mrs. Ransom-Jones touched her earrings. “The Roberts boy is very reliable. You know him.”
    â€œOf course, dear,” her sister said. “Just don’t worry.”
    â€œI’ve left the doctor’s name and telephone number on the hall table,” Mrs. Ransom-Jones went on, counting on her fingers, “and your emergency medicine is right beside it. And he can always call his mother and father if there’s anything.”
    â€œAnd the Donalds are home right next door,” her sister said.
    â€œI’ll call during the evening,” Mrs. Ransom-Jones said. “We can get home at any time in less than half an hour.”
    â€œYou’ll be late, dear,” her sister said. “You don’t have to wait till the boy comes.”
    â€œI’d
feel
better,” Mrs. Ransom-Jones said vaguely. “Now are you
sure
—”
    The doorbell rang, and she took up her evening bag and gloves as she went to the hall. “Hello, Arthur,” her sister heard her say. “You’re very nice to come.”
    â€œThat’s all right, Mrs. Ransom-Jones,” Artie said. “I was just going to read anyway.”
    â€œIt’s just that my sister had another attack two days ago.” Mrs. Ransom-Jones dropped her voice, but her sister could still hear her. “She has to be very quiet, and I just wanted someone here in case anything should—” She hesitated slightly. “In case anything should happen,” she repeated.
    â€œI see,” Artie said.
    â€œHere’s the doctor’s name and telephone number, and Lillian’s medicine, which she gets if she
should
happen to have another attack, and the telephone number where we’ll be, and—”
    â€œI can tell him all about it, dear,” Lillian said, raising her voice. “Don’t you bother.”
    Mrs. Ransom-Jones came in, bringing perfume and the sound of black velvet moving softly. “Well, sweetie,” she said.
    â€œGood night, dear,” Lillian said, raising her face. “I’ll most likely be asleep when you come in.”
    â€œGood night,” Mrs. Ransom-Jones said. “I’m sure everything will be fine,” she said to Artie in the doorway.
    â€œHave a nice time,” Artie said politely. “Hello, Miss Tyler.”
    â€œHello, Arthur,” Lillian said. Mrs. Ransom-Jones waved from the doorway and went out, closing the door very gently. Lillian sat back and smiled at Artie. “She does worry
so
,” she said.
    Artie sat down gingerly. He had been in the Ransom-Jones house before, but never in a position of responsibility. He felt proprietary about the tapestry chairs standing carefully against the walls, about the oriental rug, the thick scarf on the piano. He knew Miss Tyler as a person of authority, a grown-up in his children’s world, someone his mother knew, and now he was in charge of her; he sat back more comfortably and smiled at Miss Tyler on the couch. “Can I get you anything?” he asked.
    â€œNo, indeed.” Miss Tyler smiled back at him, tenderly, as though drawn away from an