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her sit down on the sofa. There was a difficult silence.
Then the twins, rarely at a loss for long, politely offered
her one of their awful jokes, and were pleased, if surprised,
when she laughed. Thus encouraged, they told a succession
of them. Pallas, conscious of Sam’s unrelenting stare,
laughed at each with as much enjoyment.
Mrs. Caulfield disappeared into the kitchen, and the
twins, drawn by the sound of cakes coming out of the oven,
drifted after her.
“Have you any younger brothers?” Sam asked pointedly.
Pallas looked round, as though amazed to find him
present, “No, but I have an older brother,” she said. “I did
have two, but one died three years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” said Kate.
Pallas said honestly, “I did not know him very well. He
lived in America. His wife still does.”
Mrs. Caulfield called Kate who, excusing herself, left the
two young people alone.
Pallas sat up very straight, her hands in her lap, like a
little girl at a grown-up tea-party. Sam lay back, staring at
the ceiling. She furtively inspected him from his red
sweater to his purple, fringed velvet trousers, then back,
with widened eyes, to the brown-red curls which fell to his
shoulders in wild abandon.
He turned his head lazily and stared back until her eyes fell
and she flushed.
“What’s with the gear?” he asked obscurely.
“I’m sorry?” She jumped and looked bewildered.
“The clothes,” he translated. “Why are you wearing that
drag?”
