half-sister, quite a bit older, but she always has called me by that nickname."

"I've been wanting to get Jo to Manhattan for the longest time, Connie said. "Finally she arrived just this evening for the holidays."

Marion nodded, looked at the woman and smiled, and Jo returned her smile. And there was a warmth in the room suddenly, a depth, a beauty, a feeling that was almost tangible; something vital and dazzling that surrounded her, and made her feel glowing inside, excitod and joyously alive, and yet, at the same time, something that was deep and comforting and strong.

Thon Marion said, "I'm so happy that you finally arrived. Would you care for a cocktail? I was just having ono."

Jo nodded, still smiling. "I'd love a cocktail," she replied. Then she added softly, "I'm happy that I finally arrived, too."

It was past midnight. The wet snow was still falling, gathering itself into white patches here and there, on low rooftops and in secluded placos. Marion Taylor went to her writing desk, brought out her stationery and pon. She began composing a letter, writing rapidly, joyously. Then she read it over to herself, whispering the words aloud, "Dear John and Gloria," she had writton, "Thank you so much for your kind invitation, but I feel that I must decline. I belong here in New York. I am at home here. However, I would love to visit you over the holidays, see you and the children."

Then she added a postscript: "If you wouldn't mind too much, I'd love to bring along a friend of mine. Sho's wonderful, and I'm sure you'll like her."

She signed it, and soaled it, and placed it on the hall table near the entrance so that she would be sure to remember to mail it when she went out later.

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