“I must ask you to excuse me, but my lawyer wishes to see me at once⁠—a small but important matter about my estate. I am most unhappy to leave now. We must continue our talk another time. Please do not leave on my account, Mr. Dalgreen⁠—my house is at your service.”

When her husband left, Brent and Marie Di Costa talked idly on irrelevant topics, they had to, since he had no idea of what might be relevant. You couldn’t walk up to a girl whom you’d met for the first time and ask, “Madam, does your husband paint monsters? Or perhaps you dabble in witchcraft! Is that the secret?”

A quick glance at his watch convinced him it was time to go, before he wore out his welcome.

Turning to light a cigarette his eyes fell on the mantle clock. He registered surprise.

“Why, it’s three-thirty already! I’m afraid I’ll have to be leaving.”

She rose, smiling. “You have been a most delightful guest,” she laughed. “I know I speak for Arthur as well as myself when I say I hope to see you again.”

“I may take you up on that,” Brent said.

Their forward progress was suddenly impeded as the elevator swung open to discharge a small bundle of screaming humanity. Dazed, Brent realized it was a young girl as she swept past. The child collapsed on Marie Di Costa’s shoulder, her golden hair shaking with muffled sobs. A plastic doll with a shattered head gave mute evidence of the source of the disturbance.

Brent stood by self-consciously until the crying was soothed. Marie flashed him an understanding smile while she convinced the child at least to say hello to the visitor. He was rewarded with the sight of the red, tear-stained face.