"Jim asked me how he should address you," said Miss Laughton, "and I told him to use his own judgment. Evidently you've impressed him. I think he ought to call you 'Stephen,' and if he calls you by your first name, he can't very well 'sir' you, can he?" Jim smiled at his cousin. "May I-Stephen?"

"You may-Jim," Stephen smiled back

At ten o'clock Miss Laughton yawned. "You youthful souls may stay up until dawn if you like, but I'm going to bed. You'll see to the lights, please, Jim?"

After her departure to her downstairs bedroom, Stephen settled back

in his chair and looked at the fire. Jim, he felt, was watching him with curiosity. Stephen could think of nothing to say. He might have talked of Switzerland, but he was afraid that the subject lay under the general embargo on school. Did the boy know anything about music? Certainly his aunt didn't!

"Do you like music?" Stephen ventured.

"Some kinds. I don't like the stuff a lot of the fellows my age go for. The Beatles! Ick!" He made an amusing face of distaste.

"What, then? Brahms? Gilbert and Sullivan? Gershwin?"

"I guess they're all right, Stephen, but I generally like earlier music. You know-Bach, Handel, Purcell-people

like that.

Finding that they had a taste in common in addition to that for vanilla souffle, Stephen single-mindedly kept the discussion to music until eleven o'clock. At last he yawned in turn.

"Are you sleepy?' 'asked Jim. "Yes, I am," replied Stephen with far less reluctance than he felt. "So'm I," yawned the boy, getting up and beginning to put out the lamps.

When they reached the bedroom, Jim asked if his cousin wanted to shower. Stephen did want to shower, but he paused before replying. Then he said, "Look, I want to unpack and look over a couple of letters. Why don't you go ahead, and I'll shower after you've finished?"

"All right," said Jim, and he began to undress. Stephen opened his suitcase with immense concentration and began to transfer his belongings to the closet and to the top of the chest of drawers. He was perfectly aware of every movement Jim made. Now he was taking off his shirt. Now his shoes. Now his trousers. Now Tshirt and briefs. As the totally naked Jim began to open and close the dresser drawers, Stephen kept his eyes riveted to his suitcase, trying to whistle softly in casual unconcern.

"I'm sure Aunt Mary told me that my pajamas were back from the laundry, but they don't seem to be here," said Jim.

Stephen, who had seen a pair of light-green silk pajamas hanging on the back of the bathroom door, said nothing and continued his deliberate motions of unpacking.

"Well, I won't be long," said Jim, disappearing into the bathroom. He left the door open. Damn the boy!

He wasn't long. Stephen had scarcely had time to strip down to his shorts before his young cousin reappeared. That the pajamas were still hanging behind the door was instantly apparent.

"Al finished?" asked Stephen. The casual tone nearly strangled him.

"All finished! It's yours!" And Jim began to turn back the bedclothes.

"My God!" thought Stephen and fled into the bathroom, closing and locking the door. He was covered with soap before he remembered that he'd left his pajamas in the bedroom. He dawdled about as long as he could.

17