". . . my son and his wife will be pleased to have someone their own age to talk to. Not that they . . ." She looked up, over my shoulder, and the change in her face made me stare. So she could smile. "Ah, but here they are. Looking for me, I expect. My dears, allow me to introduce . . ."

I didn't hear the rest of it. When I turned, my ears went dead, the way they do after a sudden change in altitude.

She couldn't have been more than eighteen--twenty, at the outside. Her skin had that exquisite English fairness and her hair was a mass of cloudy brown curls framing her heart-shaped face. I saw that much, and the fact that the top of her head barely reached his chin, and that he had gone dead-white under his tan and that his eyes were as flat and opaque as blue circles painted on paper.

The girl smiled and spoke. My ears popped midway through the speech, and I caught the last words. ". . . call me Mary. This . . ." She tilted her head and looked up at him, her eyes shining. "This is John."

He had himself under control, except for his color; he always had trouble with that. His voice was cool and steady. "How do you do. We'd better hurry; the others have gone on. Mother--"

She waved away the arm he offered. "No, darling. I'm perfectly capable of walking a few more yards unassisted. You look a little . . . Are you feeling well?" His brows drew together, and she said hurriedly, "Oh, dear, I'm fussing, aren't I? I promise I won't do it again. Come along, Vicky, you and I will lean on one another."

She didn't need assistance; she was a lot steadier on her feet than I was. I stumbled along beside her, grateful for the uneven terrain and the heat and the need for haste, since they offered an excuse for the fact that I couldn't seem to take a deep breath. From behind me I heard a murmur of voices and a soft, silvery laugh.

The bus was one of those modern monsters, air-conditioned and enormous. As soon as we had settled ourselves an attendant came round with a tray. "Mineral water?" he inquired softly. "Orange juice? Mimosa?"

It occurred to my numbed brain that mimosas had alcohol of some kind in them. Champagne? Who cared? I grabbed one and tossed it down.

Jen had taken the seat next to mine. Several rows ahead I saw the familiar outlines of a neatly shaped skull covered with fair hair. Mary's head wasn't visible over the back of the seat, she was so tiny.

Have I mentioned I am almost six feet tall?

. . .

I choked on my drink. Jen gave me a hearty slap on the back. Her brow clouded. "Oh, dear, I hope I didn't offend the dear boy. Men are so sensitive about weakness, you know, and I promised myself I would stop fussing over him, especially now that he has a wife to look after him, but he was so ill last winter . . . A skiing accident, and then pneumonia. He seems quite fit now, but I worry."

"Skiing accident," I repeated, like a parrot. I guess it could have been described that way. . . .

. . .

I had not known about his subsequent illness, but I wasn't surprised to hear of it. If he had stayed in bed for a few days instead of sneaking off the first time I left him alone . . .

Fortunately Jen didn't notice my abstraction; she was perfectly happy to carry the conversation. I sat slugging down champagne and orange juice while Jen went merrily on, telling me how she had feared her dear boy would never settle down--"he is so attractive to women"--about the whirlwind courtship--"he didn't bring her to meet me until a few weeks ago"--and about their insistence that she join them on their honeymoon.

"Honeymoon," said the parrot.

. . .

I don't remember what else she said.