They met just as they met yesterday in front of the fireplace.
“Oh, Michael, have you been waiting long?” she said.
“Yes, hours, or perhaps a couple of minutes. I don’t know.”
“Ah, but which? If hours, I shall apologise, and then excuse myself by saying that you must have come earlier than you intended. If minutes I shall praise myself for being so exceedingly punctual.”
“Minutes, then,” said he. “I’ll praise you instead. Praise is more convincing if somebody else does it.”
“Yes, but you aren’t somebody else. Now be sensible. Have you done all the things you told me you were going to do?”
“Yes.”
Sylvia released her hands from his.
“Tell me, then,” she said. “You’ve seen your father?”
There was no cloud on Michael’s face. There was such sunlight where his soul sat that no shadow could fall across it.