sun deck and no offers to show her the boathouse.'
From somewhere a mischievous smile crossed Stephen's face. 'I'll have her back in ten minutes,' he promised. 'Or not at all.'
Then he took Laura in his arms and did not surprise her by being an excellent dancer. Laura, after a moment or two of small talk to the accompaniment of a tango beat, took Stephen to be handsome, wealthy, flagrantly intelligent, and exactly the type of self-possessed American male she had already learned to dislike. She quickly sensed, however, as he next eased her into a smooth foxtrot, that she would not learn to dislike Stephen Fowler.
He was also older-thirty-and he wore his maturity well. He had gone to Princeton as an undergraduate and had earned his bachelor's degree in the midst of the Depression. His father had lost about 80 percent of everything in the stock market in 1929 and the Fowler family of Bala Cynwyd had maintained the role that vanquished dukes played in Europe after the Great War-aristocracy without money.
Yet the family had recovered well in the latter years of the Depression, held onto their home and their social ranking, and were, in a small sense, forging something of a quiet multimillion-dollar comeback.
For his part, Stephen had done a little bit of a lot: some political study here, some economic study there; a job at Girard Trust for several months in Philadelphia; two summers with a Protestant missionary group in Nova Scotia; a strange stint as a merchant seaman to the Caribbean and back -- 'So that I could afford to see the place,' he explained -- and even a bit of travel to England and the Continent, of which he now spoke little. 'I was sick from the water in England and from the cheese in France,' he complained at the time, 'and came home early.'
Thereafter, Tigertown had taken him back. His stock at Old Nassau had remained high and Princeton offered him a job in 1935 as an instructor of political science and residence counselor at $1,150 a year, plus meals and board. All of which was how he knew Victor and Barbara. And how he met Laura. That, and the fact that in the tight, cozy summer society at Lake Contontic, every 'good' family knew every other 'good' family.
'You were engaged?' he finally asked. 'I didn't see a ring.'
'I sent it back.'
'Where's the shattered young man? Or did he shoot himself?'
'Back in England,' she answered, as members of the band sang the chorus of Chicago, Chicago! 'And I'm certain that he's doing well, thank you.'
'What made him let you out of his sight?' he asked. 'I doubt if I would have under the circumstances.'
'You are an excessive flatterer, Stephen,' she reproached him. 'Barbara should have warned me.'
'I'm not flattering. I'm telling you the truth. If I were engaged to you, I'd never let you out of my sight.'
'He didn't, either,' Laura answered. 'That's why I broke it off.'
For the first time, she had outpointed him. Stephen Fowler was not certain of how next to proceed.
Laura was no stranger to men who made the bold approach. She was quite capable of discouraging them or putting them completely off. But only when she cared to, which was not this evening. There was something about the way Stephen Fowler held her as they danced, something about the way he glided her around the hardwood dance floor, something even just right about the American jazz, the trumpets, the saxophones, the ersatz Hawaiian wall hangings and the breezes which wafted through the screened window onto the dance floor. Yes, Barbara had warned her about this place. But there was even something about the way Stephen lightly cuffed his palm at the small of her back as they danced. This was, Laura knew quickly, the type of thing that she might even like to see get a little out of hand.
'It was my idea to break the engagement,' she answered. 'At first, I thought it would be a good idea to get away from each other. To see if the relationship was…'
'Real,' he said.
'Yes.'
'Were you in love with him?'
'That's actually none of your-'
'In other words, you weren't.'
'You're very sure of yourself,' she retorted.
'It's not hard to figure out,' he said. 'If you went away and aren't desperate to go back and see him, you weren't in love. There! It's that simple.'
Suddenly she felt a surge of sympathy for Edward Shawcross and wanted to defend him. 'He meant a lot to me,' she said indignantly. 'I liked him very much. And-'
'And you tried to be in love with him, but couldn't,' Stephen said. 'Happens all the time, you know.'
'I guess you're an expert,' Laura said as the music stopped. There was polite applause from around the ballroom.
'Not an expert,' he said, retreating in tone. 'I made a few lucky guesses.'
'We should be going back to Barbara's table.' Laura began to move, but Stephen firmly held her hand.
'One more dance. Please?' She agreed and it turned into a slow waltz. Now Barbara was on the dance floor, too, with Victor, and once when Laura looked over Stephen's shoulder she saw Barbara giving her a naughty smile. She could also see, by the way Victor held her, that Barbara and her boyfriend were lovers.
Stephen Fowler led their waltz beautifully and the ballroom itself was soon swimming with reflected lights off the mirrored ball at its center. Stephen possessed her very capably in his strong arms, and Laura, for the first time that evening, began to wonder if she was a goner.
'You taught Victor at Princeton?' she asked.
'I hope so,' he answered within Victor's earshot.
'I've never been to Princeton,' she said. 'I hear it's very pretty.'
'Would you like to see it?'
'Someday, of course.'
'What about next weekend?'
She drew an extra inch apart from him and gazed steadily into his eyes. 'What?'
'As long as you're no longer engaged… and as long as you were never in love to start with, we can drive down next Saturday. I'll show you the town and the university. The whole area, in fact.'
'For the day?'
'For the weekend.' Stephen smiled.
'Mr. Fowler,' she reproached with undue formality, 'I met you two minutes ago.'
'But I think we like each other.'
'Do we? That much? I know all about weekend invitations.' Fleetingly, she thought of Edward and wondered how her declaration had sounded.
'I'm sure you do,' he said. When her eyes narrowed, he grinned again.
'I don't know the first thing about you,' she said as they continued to dance. 'Aside from your name and that Barbara once mentioned you to me.'
'What would you like to know?' he challenged.
'Do you have a job?'
'No.'
'What do you do?'
'I play tennis, swim, and sail,' he answered.
'In the fall, then?' she asked. 'What will you do for a living?'
'You won't believe me.'
'Try me, then.'
'I'm accepted into divinity school,' he said. 'I'm entering Yale University this fall.'
She missed a step and her feet tangled slightly. 'Divinity school? You? To become a parson?'
'A Lutheran minister, actually.'
She took another look at him, tall, strong, and handsome, owning a face that should have been in movies and a self-assurance that she knew had probably broken many hearts. She stepped away from him one pace and in her incredulity began to laugh.
'A minister!' she exclaimed. 'You're joking!'
'No,' he said, standing before her as those who waltzed past them watched the intrigue. 'I'm not joking.' And he wasn't smiling now, either. So she knew. He was serious. He held his hand out to lead her back into the
