"I—no, Mary."
Mary looked back at the mirror. "He likes our canal blossom perfume." She dabbed some of it on her ear lobes. "I like it best, too."
June stood up, crossed to the musikon, found a slow five-toned waltz. She turned the music very low, and left the color mixer dim enough so that only the faintest ghosts projected hues moved on walls and ceiling.
Mary continued to stare into the mirror. "But he will come. I know it."
June said nothing.
"Don't you see. I just know he'll come."
June crossed back to her seat.
Mary turned from the mirror. "I'm sure he will. He's—I mean...."
June smiled wanly.
"Well, he will! You'll see!"