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home too late,” said Cyrus with a twinkle, from which Victor deduced that he expected them to go someplace afterward rather than come home immediately after the movie was over. Then he added, “We go to the early Mass, you know.”
    The movie ended shortly after ten, and this time they did go to a café. He could have had a cocktail, and he wanted one, but he forebore because he thought it might be politic not to, and ordered beer instead. They sat and talked about themselves mostly. She told him about her school, about the teachers she had liked and those whom she did not care for.
    â€œYour uncle said you had thought of entering a convent,” he said at one point.
    â€œYes, I thought I had a vocation, but my uncle felt that perhaps it was just that I had been in contact with the Sisters all my life, and it was that rather than a real call. He wanted me to experience the secular world a bit before making up my mind. He’s been so kind to me, I thought the least I could do to reciprocate was to do what he wanted me to do.”
    â€œAnd has your experience of the world changed your mind?”
    â€œI haven’t experienced very much of it, so I can’t tell.”
    They got home just before midnight.
    After church they spent the morning watching the various political programs on TV and reading the Sunday papers, and dinner was served after the last news program was completed. It was a lavish meal with Cornish game hen as the main course, and Victor enjoyed it, but he was also beginning to get fidgety. If he could have gone off for a walk, or if Cyrus had taken him into his study for a talk, the situation would have been tolerable. But he sensed that Sunday was the day they were supposed to be together, and that to split up in any way at all would be taken in bad part. He wondered how long he was expected to stay, and whether he might not plead the necessity of having to prepare his lectures for the next day as an excuse for leaving early. Fortunately, Cyrus was called to the telephone, and when he hung up, he said, “I’ve got to run up to Revere. I can take you to the Swampscott station, where you can make the three o’clock into Boston.”
    â€œOh swell, I’ll get my things.”
    When he dropped him off at the train station, Cyrus said, “I hope you had a nice time.”
    â€œI had a wonderful time, Mr. Merton. You were all so kind.”
    â€œHow about next week? Agnes asked me to ask you, and I know Peg would like to see you again.”
    â€œI’d certainly like that.”
    â€œLook, I have an idea. I’m coming in to Boston Friday. Why don’t you plan on coming out Friday instead of Saturday. Bring your things to school, and I can pick you up after your last class and we could drive out to Barnard’s Crossing together.”
    â€œWell—I had sort of a date to go to a driving range and hit a couple of buckets of balls. It’s the only exercise I get.” He had actually planned to see Marcia Skinner if she was free.
    â€œGolf? You play golf? Then bring your clubs with you Friday. There’s a golf course in Breverton, the next town north of Barnard’s Crossing. Maybe half an hour’s drive. Bring your clubs and Peg can drive you out there Saturday morning, and she can walk around with you. And you can have lunch at the club afterward. They have an excellent dining room.”
    In the half-hour ride from Swampscott to Boston’s North Station, Victor Joyce thought about the weekend he had just spent. He felt certain that the reason for the invitation was not so that Cyrus Merton could judge his candidacy for tenure, but as a possible husband for his niece. Pretending some business so that she could substitute for him in showing him the town was pretty obviously an attempt to throw them together. He suspected that if he had not invited her to go to a movie, Cyrus or Agnes would have suggested it. Maybe all that