What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically. He heard the woman talking again. ’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. John was ecstatic to hear that she had made the coveted first chair position in Orchestra. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings.
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