"Where?" asked Peter, puzzled.
"At the house of the Judge Krink."
Later they talked about themselves. Peter told Maria about Vonnie. Somehow he could not bear to have her think that he had been altogether desolated by her flight seventeen years ago or that he had spent his life entirely in persuading Pat to eat spinach. Certainly Maria was not displeased by the story. She smiled cheerfully when told of the devastation wrought by her phonograph record but she said, "Oh, Peter, you should not have let her go. I did not teach you enough or you would have broken the record of the song." Maria met confession with confession and rather overtopped Peter.
"How about this God you were telling me about. Do you think he liked that?" he inquired.
"Oh," said Maria, "it is not such little things about which he bothers."
"Didn't you ever love me?" Peter protested.
"Not after the baby," said Maria. "It was not your fault but in my heart I blamed you. It seemed to me the thing mean and silly. To be hurt so much, that cannot be good. Now I am not so sure. If he is to sing it cannot be too much. Nothing. Not even that."
She moved to the piano and ran over an air which sounded familiar to Peter. "You remember?" she said.
On a chance he guessed. "That's what you danced to in 'Adios'."
"That is smart. You remember. It is the Invitation to the Waltz. All these years you have remembered."