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"Yes," he said.

"I feel more and more that we've got to get some base away from New York," she said. "If there was a war, we'd be caught like rats. Of course, if we left the city altogether I'm not sure how we could make a living. We could open a deep-freeze locker."

"I don't know much about freezers," he said.

This dialogue was as much a part of his visits to the country, he thought, as the swimming and the drinking; and it would be brief. "Then you don't like the place?" she asked, and when he said no, she sighed and stepped from the dark hallway into the sun. He followed her and closed the door. She looked behind her as if he had closed the door on her salvation, and then she took his arm and walked beside him to the car.

Mrs. Garrison, Ellen, and Jim ate their lunch that day on the terrace. Ingrid and Timmy ate in the kitchen, and Agnes Shay fed Carlotta in the nursery. Then she undressed the child, drew the blinds, and put her to bed. She lay on the floor beside the bed and fell into a sound sleep herself. At three, she woke and roused Carlotta. The child was sweaty and cross.

When Carlotta was dressed, Agnes took her down to the living room. Mrs. Garrison was waiting there. It was one of the rituals of that summer that she should spend an hour with Carlotta each afternoon. Left alone with her grandmother, the child sat stiffly in a chair. Mrs. Garrison and the little girl bored one another.

Mrs. Garrison had led an unusually comfortable life, so well sustained by friends and by all sorts of pleasures that she retained a striking buoyancy. She was impulsive, generous, and very kind. She was also restless. "What shall we do, Carlotta?" she asked.

"I don't know," the child said.

"Shall I make you a necklace of daisies, Carlotta?"

"Yes."

"Well, you wait here, then. Don't touch the candy or the things on my desk, will you?"

Mrs. Garrison went into the hall and got a basket and some shears. The lawn below the terrace ended abruptly in a field that was covered with white-and-yellow daisies. She filled her basket with them. When she returned to the living room, Carlotta was still sitting stiffly in her chair. Mrs. Garrison did not trust the child and she inspected the desk before she settled herself on the sofa. She began to push a threaded needle through the hairy flowers. "I'll make you a necklace and a bracelet and a crown," she said.

"I don't want a daisy necklace," Carlotta said.

"But you told me you wanted one."

"I want a real necklace," Carlotta said. "I want a pearl necklace like Aunt Ellen has."

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Garrison said. She put aside her needle and the flowers. She remembered her first pearls. She had worn them to a party in Baltimore. It had been a wonderful party and the memory excited her for a moment. Then she felt old.

"You're not old enough to have pearls," she told Carlotta. "You're just a little girl." She spoke quietly, for the memory of Baltimore had reminded her of other parties; of the yacht-club party at which she had sprained her ankle and the masquerade she had attended dressed as Sir Walter Raleigh. The day had got very hot. The heat made Mrs. Garrison sleepy and encouraged her to reminisce. She thought about Philadelphia and Bermuda, and became so absorbed in these memories that she was startled when Carlotta spoke again.

"I'm not a little girl," Carlotta said suddenly. "I'm a big girl!" Her voice broke and tears came to her eyes. "I'm bigger than Timmy and Ingrid and everybody!"

"You'll be big enough in time," Mrs. Garrison said. "Stop crying."

"I want to be a big lady. I want to be a big lady like Aunt Ellen and Mummy."

"And when you're as big as your mother, you'll wish you were a child again!" Mrs. Garrison said angrily.

"I want to be a lady," the child cried. "I don't want to be little. I don't want to be a little girl."

"Stop it," Mrs. Garrison called, "stop crying. It's too hot. You don't know what you want. Look at me. I spend half my time wishing I were young enough to dance. It's ridiculous, it's perfectly..." She noticed a shadow crossing the lowered