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of heaven that was about, but it looked damned unpatriotic.” He scooped up the stovepipe hat that Jennifer hadn’t even realized had fallen from her head, and after subjecting it to a dubious examination, set it gently back on her hair. “When she’s not head of state, is she someone?”
    “She’s someone. Her name is Jennifer Hamilton,”Philip said, smiling at the gray-eyed man, beginning to walk beside him toward the street. “And I’m going to make her a happy woman.”
    The gray-eyed stranger turned instantly and gave her a look full of humor and delight, and began to laugh. The man she knew only as Peter the Policeman fell in beside them, and she emerged from the final abrupt stage into reality, into a hurricane of fury.
    “Not going to make what easy?” she said, the words passing quietly through kiss-numbed lips. She continued to stare idiotically after his retreating figure. Then she repeated, quite loudly, “Make
what
easy?”
    He turned halfway across the street and said, “Us.” And she watched him walking backward, gazing at her, until “Peter” took hold of his arm and said plaintively, “For God’s sake, Philip, will you be done with that weird chick? What’s gotten into you? It’s damned embarrassing.”
    It might have been the audacity of a man who made his living taking off his clothes describing an encounter with her as embarrassing. It might have been the emotional aftershock of the kiss. Or it might have been the certainty that again the blond stripper had made a spectacle out of her. But Jennifer Hamilton, coming to the end of her rope, dashed her hat on the ground and thought, Damn you! You’re never going to make me a happy woman! Do you understand? Never!
    He had vanished into the crowd.
    Long habits of dignity caused her to bend slowly and retrieve her hat, looking neither to the left nor right. Shaken, yet steeled, trying her best to pretend that nothing had just happened and thatno one around her had noticed a thing, she turned back to her equipment to make the unsettling discovery that she must have dislodged the smoke mechanism on the log cabin when she had tripped against it. It had been puffing vigorously throughout their embrace. Pride made her remain at her post with a frozen countenance.
    It may have been her imagination—but had the contributions picked up a little?

Three
    Walking through her front door later, stripping off the frock coat, Jennifer realized that his muffler was still curled around her neck.
    It wasn’t until noon the next day that the conviction she was a wronged woman began to waver.
    By that evening she was facing the unsettling truth. She had overreacted to mild teasing from an extremely attractive man who probably spent the better part of his days in enthusiastically requited flirtations.
    Midnight found her watching M*A*S*H reruns and feeling wistful.
    The mood persisted throughout the next day, and while she fought against the lowness, it seemed to be growing up and around her. Apprehension tore at her, and that was foolish because nothing was going to happen to her. A chance meeting, a few challenging words thrown out by a man in a temper, a kiss. It had happened, butnow it was over. Let the regrets and the sting of it go.
    But the internal disquiet became strain. She was nervous as she locked up the library Monday night. There was no reason to be nervous, of course, even though she was alone, because Eleanor Paynter was outside, warming up her Gremlin for their shared ride home. But the building seemed desolate in the dim glare of the security lights. Somewhere in the back reaches of the stacks a display book collapsed with a sharp crash and Jennifer jumped. Half smiling at her private display of nerves, she moved more quickly than usual through the litany of tasks. Turn the “Open” sign to “Closed.” Make sure the cash drawer was locked. Unplug the coffee pot. Turn down the heat. Double check to be sure the front door was locked. Unlock