"He's looking through your collection."

"That's like a bachelor. Always running out on a woman." "Isn't it!" Jerry looked at Madeline, then turned away.

"How about some lemonade?"

"Thanks."

Madeline poured the drink from the pitcher into a glass and handed it to him. "How's school coming? Finals are near, aren't they?"

"In about two weeks."

"Where do you go? Mr. Leverett told me but I forgot." "Columbia. I'm an engineering student."

"Oh, yes, now I remember."

Jerry noticed the timbre of her voice-how strong and definite it was, as Henry had said. Maybe that was what Henry liked in her. As he sipped his lemonade, he watched the movement of her body. Even at fifty, her body seemed lithe and strong, and there was a gracefulness to it. A form. A bachelor at fifty-three was lucky to get her.

Madeline poured some more lemonade into her glass. Then she looked up at Jerry. "You see Mr. Leverett quite often now, don't you?"

"Lets call him Henry," Jerry said, a bit sarcastically, not able to repress his sudden resentment of her. "Pretty often."

"I wanted to talk to you about him. . . I like Henry. I like him very much." "So do I." He liked the brittleness, the sophistication of his own voice.

"I know that. I don't care what you do. I mean, I won't try to be hypocritical." "That's nice of you."

"I know you and Mr. Leverett-I mean, Henry-have had romantic-" her voice became saccharinely harsh—“relations. I don't blame him.”

"That's damn sweet of you." He had thought that he would enjoy his conversation with Madeline. It would be sophisticated and urbane, but he didn't feel pleased somehow.

He could not understand his reactions. Somewhere in a distant street of his brain, a little automobile horn had been calling out for the pride and monetary wealth he had always wanted-the wealth his family did not provide him with, and the pride he could not have because of a poor and unsuccessful father. Then, when his father had introduced Henry, an old college classmate, to Jerry (the three had met coincidentally in the Metropolitan Museum on the second floor), the circles had become smaller but richer and deeper.

"I'm asking you to stop." Madeline hesitated, then continued. "I know he's attracted to your youth and your looks. But he'll get over this homosexual urge when we get together again."

"Don't you think I might like him?" Jerry asked.

"I don't know. You might be attracted to his money. He told me you're poor.” "Maybe," Jerry mumbled. "Let's stop this."

"You could get yourself a nice girl. You're young and you have a certain charm. If you need money, I could lend you some. I have a little saved up."

He liked Madeline for that. Straight from the shoulder.

"When Henry and I break up, he'll come back to you," he replied.

"I'm going to fight for him. You haven't won him completely."

"Don't you think it's rather odd of him to give us these minutes to discuss it?" Jerry asked. "It's convenient." Jerry lit a cigarette and blew smoke rings toward the ceiling. "I think I've won."

15