With an effort she forced her mind away from thoughts of Jack, and from the inevitable corollary the memory had induced-"How could I have been such a wimp?"-and leaned back, enjoying the luxurious ride. It was unlikely that she would ever occupy such an elegant vehicle again. The Rolls was on its way to storage, and a long list of potential buyers was anxiously awaiting Mrs. Mac's final decision.

Gliding in air-conditioned, velvet-cushioned comfort through the summer countryside, Karen began to feel more cheerful. The feeling that she would never see Mrs. Mac again wasn't a premonition of approaching disaster, only a normal reaction to seeing an elderly friend off on a long trip. Whatever happened, she could rejoice in the knowledge that Mrs. Mac was doing precisely what she wanted to do, and would certainly have a wonderful time doing it.

To be sure, the ominously silent presence of Alexander was not calculated to lift her spirits. She avoided looking at the carrier; in any case, Alexander's rump was not a pretty sight.

Through the glass partition that separated the front and back seats, she could see the chauffeur's head and his heavy shoulders. She had met him for the first time earlier in the week, when he helped Joseph deliver Mrs. MacDougal's clothing. He was the only one of the servants who had not been with her for many years. He seemed to be good at his job; the huge car slid sinuously through the traffic, with no change in speed and no delays.

Not until then did Karen remember the worn leather case Mrs. MacDougal had given her. It lay on her lap, forgotten in the turmoil of departure. An amused, affectionate smile curved her mouth as she turned it in her hands, seeking the catch that would open it. Heaven only knew what Mrs. Mac would consider an appropriate farewell gift; the box might contain anything, from diamond earrings to a Mickey Mouse watch.

Her fingers found and pressed the catch. The lid fell back. There were earrings, and a matching necklace; but not, thank goodness, of precious stones. The earrings were long dangles, heavy and ornate; the necklace choker length. Sections of black enamel edged in gold scrolls formed a background for flower-shaped insets made up of small pearls and sparkling stones, pale green and colorless. Karen detached one of the earrings from its mount and turned it over. Antique jewelry was one of the subjects she was still learning about, but she knew enough to feel sure the set was not particularly valuable. The gold wash had worn off in places, showing a lighter metal beneath. Ordinarily she would never wear anything so ornate, but the necklace would look nice with some of the Victorian clothes.

When they left the parkway and started up Wisconsin, Karen reached for her purse. She would never have dreamed of offering a tip to Joseph, but this young man was not of the old school. What was his name? That at least she could offer, some acknowledgment of the fact that he was not simply an anonymous machine. Hawkins? Higgins? No-Horton.

There was no parking space open near the house. Horton double-parked and was out of his seat and opening Karen's door before she could move. He lifted Alexander's carrier.

"I can manage it," Karen said.

"There are the other things, miss."

"Oh, yes."

Horton unloaded Alexander's bed, his food and water dishes, and his toys. A three-month supply of Alexander's favorite foods had already been delivered, but it was unthinkable that Alexander should be deprived of his toys for so much as a second.

"Just leave them," Karen said, as the pile increased. "I don't want you to get a ticket-"

Horton's lips parted in a small, amused smile. They were full, fleshy lips, of the sort some women might consider sexy. His other features and his bulky, heavily muscled body also fit the exaggerated macho image made popular by certain film stars. The trim jacket didn't actually strain across his broad chest-no subordinate of Joseph's would ever be seen in public in improperly fitted clothing-but the fabric looked as if it wanted to stretch.

"I have my instructions, miss," the chauffeur said sedately. "Please allow me."

Of course, Karen thought, watching him lift the boxes as effortlessly as if they had been empty. Of course- Mrs. Jackson MacDougal never gets parking tickets.

Horton followed her into the hall. "Where would you like me to put them, miss?"

"Miss" instead of "madam." Was that because Joseph couldn't break his habit of referring to her as "Miss Karen," or were they all obeying instructions from Mrs. Mac, who would be delighted to see her resume her single status? Mrs. Mac had never liked Jack…

Irrelevant and immaterial, Karen thought. Aloud she said, "Anywhere. Here. It doesn't matter."

"The carrier is rather heavy, miss. Perhaps in the kitchen?"

His manner was perfectly respectful, but suddenly Karen realized that she didn't want him to go any farther into the house. His body seemed to fill the entire hallway.

"No," she said. "Just leave everything here."

"Yes, miss." Horton touched his cap and turned to go – Karen thanked him and held out a folded bill.

She was not sure she was doing the right thing, and was prepared for a well-bred rebuff, of the sort Joseph would have given her. Horton's reaction was even more disconcerting. His full lips parted in a broad, uninhibited grin. "Save it, doll. You probably need it worse than I do."

Karen gaped at him as he strutted-there was no other word for it-down the walk, his hands in his pockets, his uniform cap pushed rakishly askew. As the car glided away, he put his arm out the window and gave her an impudent wave.

Karen laughed and waved back, though she knew Joseph would have fainted with horror at the gesture and her response. Horton must have had a hard time conforming to the formal standards the butler insisted upon. This was his last day on the job, his final public appearance; he had nothing to lose by letting go.

She forgot Horton as soon as she closed the door. There had been no comment from Alexander, but his face was now visible behind the grilled front of the carrier. Both eyes were hidden by hair, but something about his pose told her Alexander was not in a good mood.

Nerving herself for the encounter, she opened the carrier. "Okay, Alexander, this is it. I don't like it any better than you do, so don't give me a hard time."

She retreated behind the carrier, hoping it would blunt the fury of Alexander's attack. To her surprise he gave her only a cursory glance and then set out on a tour of the house. Because of his short legs and poor vision, this took an interminable time, necessitating the prolonged sniffing of every piece of furniture. Karen was tempted to hurry him along with a well-placed kick, but she was afraid to press her luck, even though she felt like an attendant pacing with measured steps behind some arthritic-ridden dowager empress.

Not until he had inspected every room did Alexander return to the kitchen, where he sat down with a thump and gave a hoarse demanding bark. Karen ran to get his food dish.

After eating, Alexander went outside and smelled the yard, pausing long enough to lift his leg and sprinkle one of Ruth's prize roses. Karen was too intimidated to protest. At least Alexander knew what needed to be done; she wouldn't have to stand in the doorway exhorting him as she had heard Rachel do. Rachel was so nice-minded she refused to use even the polite euphemisms. "Now be a big doggie," she would cry, in a horrible falsetto. "Be a good, big doggie, Alexander."

Karen had hoped Alexander would prefer to spend the day out-of-doors. The yard was fenced and shady; but it was a hot day and Alexander didn't like hot weather. Before she could close the back door, he had returned. This time he went straight to the parlor, where he collapsed with a thud and a grunt on Ruth's treasured pastel needlepoint hearthrug.