It was nearly six o'clock by the time we got to Evelyn's house, the rural, gentle landscape through which we passed neat in the seaside dusk. Fabian had checked into a hotel in Southampton on the way, and I had waited for him while he bathed and changed his clothes and made two transatlantic telephone calls. I had told him that Evelyn expected him and was readying a guest room for him, but he had said, 'Not for me, my boy. I don't relish the idea of being kept awake all night by sounds of rapture. It's especially disturbing when one is intimate with the interested parties.'

I remembered Brenda Morrissey reporting at breakfast on the same phenomenon in Evelyn's apartment in Washington and didn't press him.

As we drove up to the house, the outside lamp beside the door had snapped on. Evelyn was not going to be taken by surprise.

The lamp shed a mild welcoming light on the wide lawn in front of the house, which was built on a bluff overlooking the water. There were copses of second-growth scrub oak and wind-twisted scraggly pine bordering the property, and no other houses could be seen. In the distance there was a satiny last glow of evening on the bay. The house itself was small, of weathered, gray, Cape Cod shingle, with a steep roof and dormer windows. I wondered if I would live and die there.

Fabian had insisted upon bringing two bottles of champagne as a gift, although I had told him that Evelyn liked to drink and was sure to have liquor in the house. He did not offer to help as I unloaded my bags and picked them up to carry them into the house. He considered two bottles of champagne the ultimate in respectable burdens for a'man in his position.

He stood looking at the house as though he were confronting an enemy. 'It is small, isn't it?' he said.

'It's big enough,' I said. 'I don't share your notions of grandeur.'

'Pity,' he said, grooming his mustache. Why, I thought, surprised, he's nervous.

'Come on,' I said.

But he held back. 'Wouldn't it be better if you went in alone?' he said. 'I could take a little walk and admire the view and come back in fifteen minutes. Aren't there some statements you want to make to the lady alone?'

'Your tact does you credit,' I said, 'but it isn't necessary-I made all the required statements to the lady on the telephone from Vermont.'

'You're sure you know what you're doing?'

'I'm sure.' I took his arm firmly and led him up the gravel path to the front door.

I can't pretend that the evening was a complete success. The house was charming and tastefully although inexpensively furnished, but small, as Fabian had pointed out. Evelyn had hung the two paintings I had bought in Rome and they dominated the room, in a peculiar, almost threatening way. Evelyn was dressed casually, in dark slacks and a sweater, making the point, a little too clearly, I thought, that she wasn't going to go to any extra lengths to impress the first friend of mine she had ever met. She thanked Fabian for the champagne, but said she wasn't in the mood for champagne and started for the kitchen to mix martinis for us. 'Let's save the champagne for the wedding,' she said.

There's more where that comes from, dear Evelyn,' Fabian said. 'Even so,' Evelyn said firmly, as she went through the door.

Fabian glanced thoughtfully at me, looked as though he was about to, say something, then sighed and sank into a big leather easy chair. When Evelyn came back with the pitcher and glasses, he played with his mustache, ill at ease, and only pretended to enjoy his drink. I could see he had had his taste buds ready for the wine.

Evelyn helped me to carry my bags upstairs to our bedroom. She was not one of those American women who believe that the Constitution guarantees that they will never be required to carry anything heavier than a handbag containing a compact and a checkbook. She was stronger than she looked. The bedroom was large, running almost the full width of the house, with a bathroom leading off one side of it. There was an oversized double bed, a vanity table, bookcases, and two cane and mahogany rocking chairs set in an alcove. I noticed that there were lamps, well placed for reading.

'Do you think you'll be happy here?' she asked. She sounded uncharacteristically anxious.

'Very.' I took her in my arms and kissed her.

'He's not very happy, your friend,' she whispered, 'is he?'

'He'll learn.' I tried to make my voice sound confident. 'Anyway, he's not marrying you. I am.'

'One hopes,' she said ambiguously. 'He's power-hungry. I recognize the signs from Washington. His mouth tightens when he's crossed. Was lie in the Army?'

'Yes.'

'A colonel? He seems like a colonel who's sorry the war ever ended. I bet he was a colonel. Was he?'

'I never asked him.'

'I get the impression that you're very close.'

We are.'

'And you never asked him what his rank was?'

No.'

That's a funny kind of very close,' she said, slipping out of my arms.

Fabian was standing in front of the mantelpiece, on which stood his half-drunk martini. He was staring at Angelo Quinn's painting of the main street. He made no comment when we came down the stairs and into the living room, but reached, almost guiltily, for his glass. 'As for refreshments,' he said, falsely hearty, 'let me buy you two dear children a magnificent seafood dinner. There's a restaurant in Southampton I...'

'There's no need to go all the way to Southampton,' Evelyn said. There's a place right near here in Sag Harbor that serves the best lobsters in the world.'

I saw Fabian's mouth tightening, but all he said was, 'Whatever you say, dear Evelyn.'

She went upstairs to get a coat and Fabian and I were alone for a moment. 'I do like a woman,' he said, a hard glint in his eye, 'who knows her own mind. Poor Douglas.'

'Poor nothing,' I said.

He shrugged, touched his mustache, turned to look at the painting over the mantelpiece. 'Where did she get that?' he asked.

In Rome,' I said. 'I bought it for her.'

'You did?' he said flatly, but with a hint of unflattering surprise. 'Interesting. Do you remember the name of the gallery?'

'Bonelli's. It's on the via,..'

'I know where Bonelli's is. Old man with sliding teeth. If I happen to be in Rome I may look in...'

Evelyn came down from the bedroom with her coat over her arm, and Fabian was quick to help her on with it. Somehow, as was the case with any woman whom he considered attractive, his movements at moments like that were caressing, like a lover's, not a headwaiter's. I took it as a good sign.

The lobster turned out to be every bit as good as Evelyn had promised, and Fabian ordered a bottle of American white wine from Napa Valley that he said was almost as good as any white wine he had drunk in France. Then he ordered another bottle. By then, the atmosphere had relaxed considerably and he teased me gently about my Roman suits, praised my skiing to Evelyn and told her that she must allow me to teach her, mentioned Gstaad, St-Paul-de-Vence, Paris, all very casually, told two funny, unmalicious anecdotes about Giuliano Quadrocelli, listened seriously as we described the blowing up of the boat in the harbor, did not bring up the names of Lily or Eunice, stayed away from the topic of business, deferred at all times when Evelyn wanted to say something, and in general behaved like the most charming and considerate of hosts. I could see that for better or worse he had decided to win over Evelyn and I hoped he would succeed.

'Tell me. Miles,' Evelyn said as we were finishing our coffee, 'in the war were you a colonel? I asked Douglas and he said he didn't know.'

'Heavens no, dear girl,' he laughed. 'I was the lowliest of lieutenants.'