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raised my voice before my guide disappeared entirely. “Where is the phone?”
    She halted, did not turn, but looked back at me over one hunched shoulder.
    “Back hall—miss—” Her words grated out of her as if she resented spending any of them.
    Her far-from-welcoming attitude was daunting. I eyed my suitcase dubiously as she left. It seemed at that moment I had been far too hasty in coming here. Theodosia—perhaps I should have talked things over with someone better able than Preston Donner to share facts. I left my things packed, wondering how I could gracefully undo what my lack of thought had gotten me into, as I went prospecting for the phone.
    It was in the back hall, right enough, and Theodosia might have been hovering about the other end of the line waiting for me, so prompt was her answer at the first ring.
    “Erica?” Her voice was very hurried, a tone of—desperation? No, I was imagining things again—in it. “Are you committed to anything today or tomorrow?”
    I was surprised, snapped out of my own preoccupation.
    “Just to breakfast, then a prowl through my notebooks.” I tried to be light in touch, meet the standard I believed Theodosia’s intimates would use.
    I heard her laugh. “Breakfast? You can have thathere, and I have a suggestion to make. Come on, right away!” Once more that faintly breathless tinge crept into her speech. And she hung up apparently with no doubt that I would indeed obey her summons.
    However, I wanted to. It would give me time to think—or at least to learn from her a little more about the Austins and what I might have ignorantly stepped into. As I turned from the phone, the silence of the house closed in about me in an odd fashion. Even in daylight, these halls were dim. Through a partly open door to my right I caught sight of a half-cleared table, crumpled napkins, a stray spoon lying here and there. The light was grayish without a hint of sun. All the rest of the doors were firmly closed in what seemed a secretive fashion. At that moment the sensation of intruding was very strong. I was deeply sorry I had allowed my stupid involvement with the past to stampede me into coming here.
    Pulling on my boots, I went out once more, standing under the portico to look around and make sure of my path. The snow had hidden the walk down which I had come last night, but I do have a sense of direction, and I was quite sure, in spite of the screens of high-growing bushes and trees, where it ran. Underfoot the snow was near-slush, and my tracks were the first to mark it.
    Perhaps the garden had once been a formal one. There were benches, now pillowed with snow, and a statue or two to be seen. To my left, as I swung into the way leading to the carriage house, there was a far thicker growth. Still I caught sight of a roof out in that direction, or the portion of one, which was large enough to suggest it covered a building bigger than anymodern garage or perhaps even the converted carriage house towards which I was now bound.
    It took me only a few minutes to get around to the scarlet door marking Theodosia’s domain. Again, she might have been waiting, for I had no more than let the knocker fall than she opened to me.
    “Erica, come in!” She reached out and caught at my arm to draw me towards her. I was a little disconcerted at her action. I liked her, admired her, but I had not considered that I had any right to claim close friendship with her. My upbringing had effectively smothered my own spontaneous reaction to anyone. Aunt Otilda had had a horror of what she referred to as “indiscriminate acquaintanceships,” and had fastidiously weaned me early from casual friendships—and kept me religiously from close ones. I found it extremely difficult now to let down any barriers, even in the most fleeting of contacts.
    Even inside, Theodosia did not loosen that hold on me, but I was propelled to a small breakfast room. My discarded coat, with its attached hood, was taken, to be