Erich seemed to enjoy the question. “I’m beginning to think she is.”

Mr. Hartley concentrated on greeting guests as they arrived. From his beatific smile, Jenny could surmise that the collection was a major success.

It was obvious that the critics were equally impressed by Erich Krueger, the man. He had changed his sports jacket and slacks for a well-tailored dark blue suit; his white French-cuffed shirt was obviously custom-made; a maroon tie against the crisp white collar brought out his tanned face, blue eyes and the silver tints in his hair. He wore a gold band on the little finger of his left hand. She’d noticed it at lunch. Now Jenny realized why it looked familiar. The woman in the painting had been wearing it. It must be his mother’s wedding ring.

She left Erich talking with Alison Spencer, the elegant young critic from Art News magazine. Alison was wearing an off-white Adolfo suit that complemented her ash-blond hair. Jenny became suddenly aware of the drooping quality of her own wool skirt, the fact that her boots still looked scuffed even though she’d had them resoled and shined. She knew that her sweater looked just like what it was, a cheap, misshapen, polyester rag.

She tried to rationalize her sudden depression. It had been a long day and she was tired. It was time for her to leave and she almost dreaded picking up the girls. When Nana was still with them, going home had been a pleasure.

“Now sit down, dear,” Nana would say, “and get yourself relaxed. I’ll fix us a nice little cocktail.” She’d enjoyed hearing what was going on at the gallery, and she’d read the children a bedtime story while Jenny got dinner. “From the time you were eight years old, you were a better cook than I am, Jen.”

“Well, Nana,” Jenny would tease, “maybe if you didn’t cook hamburgers so long they wouldn’t look like hockey pucks…”

Since they’d lost Nana, Jenny picked up the girls at the day-care center, bused them to the apartment and placated them with cookies while she threw a meal together.

As she was reaching for her coat, one of the most important collectors cornered her. Finally at 5:25 she managed to get away. She debated about saying good night to Erich but he was still deep in conversation with Alison Spencer. What possible difference would it make to him that she was going? Shrugging away the renewed sensation of depression, Jenny quietly left the gallery by the service door.

Patches of ice on the sidewalk made the going treacherous. Avenue of the Americas, Fifth, Madison, Park, Lexington, Third. Second. Long, long blocks. Whoever said Manhattan was a narrow island had never run across it on slick pavements. But the buses were so slow, she was better off on foot. Still she’d be late.

The day-care center was on Forty-ninth Street near Second Avenue. It was quarter of six before, panting from running, Jenny rang the bell of Mrs. Curtis’ apartment. Mrs. Curtis was clearly angry, her arms folded, her lips a narrow slash in her long, unpleasant face. “Mrs. MacPartland!”

“We had a terrible day,” the grim lady continued. “Tina wouldn’t stop crying. And you told me that Beth was terlet-trained, but let me tell you she isn’t.”

“She is terlet-, I mean toilet-trained,” Jenny protested. “It’s probably that the girls aren’t used to being here yet.”

“And they won’t get the chance. Your kids are just too much of a handful. You try to understand my position; a three-year-old who isn’t trained and a two-year-old who never stops crying are a full-time job by themselves.”

“Mommy.”

Jenny ignored Mrs. Curtis. Beth and Tina were sitting together on the battered couch in the dark foyer that Mrs. Curtis grandly referred to as the “play area.” Jenny wondered how long they’d been bundled in their outside clothes. With a rush of tenderness, she hugged them fiercely. “Hi, Mouse. Hello, Tinker Bell.” Tina’s cheeks were damp with tears. Lovingly, she smoothed back the soft auburn hair that spilled over their foreheads. They’d both inherited Kev’s hazel eyes and thick, sooty lashes as well as his hair.

“Her was scared today,” Beth reported, pointing at Tina. “Her cried and cried.”

Tina’s bottom lip quivered. She reached up her arms to Jenny.

“And you’re late again,” Mrs. Curtis accused.

“I’m sorry.” Jenny’s tone was absentminded. Tina’s eyes were heavy, her cheeks flushed. Was she starting another siege of croup? It was this place. She never should have settled on it.

She picked up Tina. Fearful of being left behind, Beth slid off the couch. “I’ll keep both girls until Friday, which is a favor,” Mrs. Curtis said, “but that’s it.”

Without saying good night, Jenny opened the door and stepped out into the cold.

It was completely dark now and the wind was sharp. Tina burrowed her head in Jenny’s neck. Beth tried to shield her face in Jenny’s coat. “I only wet once,” she confided.

Jenny laughed. “Oh, Mouse, love! Hang on. We’ll be in the nice warm bus in a minute.”

But three buses went by full. At last she gave up and began walking downtown. Tina was a dead weight. Trying to hurry meant she had to half-drag Beth. At the end of two blocks, she bent down and scooped her up. “I can walk, Mommy,” Beth protested. “I’m big.”

“I know you are,” Jenny assured her, “but we’ll make better time if I carry you.” Locking her hands together, she managed to balance both small bottoms on her arms. “Hang on,” she said, “the marathon is under way.”

She had ten more blocks to go downtown, then two more across town. They’re not heavy, she told herself. They’re your children. Where in the name of God would she find another day care by next Monday? Oh, Nana, Nana, we need you so much! She couldn’t dare take more time off from the gallery. Had Erich asked Alison Spencer to have dinner with him? she wondered.

Someone fell in step beside her. Jenny looked up startled as Erich reached down and took Beth from her arms. Beth’s mouth formed a half-surprised, half-frightened circle. Seeming to realize she was about to protest, he smiled at her. “We’ll get home a lot faster if I carry you and we race Mommy and Tina.” His tone was conspiratorial.

“But…” Jenny began.

“Now surely you’re going to let me help you, Jenny?” he said. “I’d like to carry the little one too but I’m sure she wouldn’t come to me.”

“She wouldn’t,” Jenny agreed, “and I’m grateful, of course, Mr. Krueger, but…”

“Jenny, will you please stop calling me Mr. Krueger? Why did you leave me stuck with that tiresome woman from Art News? I kept expecting you to rescue me. When I realized you were gone, I remembered the day-care center. That awful woman told me you’d left but I got your address from her. I decided to walk down to your apartment and ring your bell. Then right in front of me I see a pretty girl in need of help, and here we are.”

She felt his arm tuck firmly under her elbow. Suddenly instead of feeling fatigued and depressed, she was absurdly happy. She glanced at his face.

“Do you go through this every night?” he asked. His tone was both incredulous and concerned.

“We usually manage to get a bus in bad weather,” she said. “Tonight they were so full, there was hardly room for the driver.”

The block between Lexington and Park was filled with high-stooped brownstones. Jenny pointed to the third house on the uptown side. “That’s it.” She eyed the street affectionately. To her the rows of brownstones offered a sense of tranquillity: houses nearly one hundred years old, built when Manhattan still had large neighborhoods of single-family homes. Most of them were gone now, reduced to rubble to make way for skyscrapers.

Outside her building, she tried to say good night to Erich but he refused to be dismissed.

“I’ll see you in,” he told her.

Reluctantly she preceded him into the ground-level studio. She’d made slipcovers in a cheerful yellow-and-orange pattern for the battered secondhand upholstery; a piece of dark brown carpet covered most of the scarred parquet floor; the cribs fit into the small dressing room off the bathroom and were almost concealed by the louver door. Chagall prints hid some of the peeling wall paint and her plants brightened the ledge over the kitchen sink.