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myself. This is my tenth sweater!’
    Mr and Mrs Wright exchanged startled glances, and Pat absently began to ruffle Ellery’s hair. ‘Play cards,’ said Carter in a smothered voice.
    The game began under what seemed to Ellery promising circumstances, considering the warm vital hand in his hair and Carter’s outthrust lower lip. And, in fact, after two rubbers Cart slammed his cards down on the table.
    â€˜Why, Cart!’ gasped Pat.
    â€˜Carter Bradford,’ said Hermy, ‘I never heard —’
    â€˜What on earth?’ said John F., staring at him.
    â€˜If you’d stop jumping around , Pat,’ cried Carter, ‘I’d be able to concentrate on this ding-busted game!’
    â€˜Jumping around? ’ said Pat indignantly. ‘Cart Bradford, I’ve been sitting here on the arm of Ellery’s chair all evening not saying a word!’
    â€˜If you want to play with his beautiful hair,’ roared Cart, ‘why don’t you take him outside under the moon?’
    Pat turned the machine-gun of her eyes on him. Then she said contritely to Ellery: ‘I’m sure you’ll forgive Cart’s bad manners. He’s really had a decent bringing-up, but associating with hardened criminals so much—’
    Nora yelped. Jim Haight stood in the archway. His Palm Beach suit hung tired and defeated; his shirt was dark with perspiration. He looked like a man who has been running at top speed in a blazing heat without purpose or plan—just running. And Nora’s face was a cloud-torn sky.
    â€˜Nora.’ The pink in Nora’s cheeks spread and deepened until her face seemed a mirror to flames. Nobody moved. Nobody said a word.
    Nora sprang toward him. For an instant Ellery thought she meant to attack him in a spasm of fury. But then Ellery saw that Nora was not angry; she was in a panic. It was the fright of a woman who had long since surrendered hope of life to live in a suspension of life, a kind of breathing death; it was the fear of joyous rebirth.
    Nora darted by Jim and skimmed up the stairs. Jim Haight looked exultant. Then he ran after her. And silence. Living Statues, thought Ellery. He ran his finger between his neck and his collar; it came away dripping. John F. and Hermy Wright were saying secretive things to each other with their eyes, as a man and woman learn to do who have lived together for thirty years. Pat kept glaring at the empty foyer, her chest rising and falling visibly; and Carter kept glaring at Pat, as if the thing that was happening between Jim and Nora had somehow become confused in his mind with what was happening between him and Pat.
    Later…later there were overhead sounds: the opening of a bedroom door, a slither of feet, steps on stairs. Nora and Jim appeared in the foyer. ‘We’re going to be married,’ said Nora. It was as if she were a cold lamp and Jim had touched the button. She glowed from within and gave off a sort of heat.
    â€˜Right off,’ said Jim. He had a deep defiant voice; it was harsher than he meant, rasped by emery strain. ‘Right off!’ Jim said. ‘Understand?’ He was scarlet from the roots of his sandy hair to the chicken skin below his formidable Adam’s apple. But he kept blinking at John F. and Hermy with a dogged, nervous bellicosity.
    â€˜Oh, Nora!’ cried Pat, and she pounced and kissed Nora’s mouth and began to cry and laugh. Hermy was smiling the stiff smile of a corpse. John F. mumbled, ‘I’ll be dinged,’ and heaved out of his chair and went to his daughter and took her hand, and he took Jim’s hand, just standing there helplessly. Carter said: ‘It’s high time, you two lunatics!’ and slipped his arm about Pat’s waist. Nora did not cry. She kept looking at her mother. And then Hermy’s petrification broke into little pieces and she ran to Nora, pushing Pat and John F. and Carter aside. She kissed Nora and