Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. The job is easy. His physical body was predictably paralyzed with shyness and fear of rejection, barely soothed with a series 51 of blatantly direct requests and compliments. But for perfect satisfaction, he must take a peek into the bedroom. He arrived at 6:29 sharp on the night of the Junior Prom.
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