taking place. Slowly, almost reluctantly, his quiet bitterness and rejection of life were beginning to fade away. Each time he looked at Amanda his eyes seemed to brighten, as if her newly rekindled hope was itself a breath of air on the nearly cold embers of his own life.

It was like a scene from a nineteenth-century romantic novel. It was certainly history in the making. And it was all so beautiful, I almost hated to interrupt.

Almost.

Amanda's head jerked around as I sat down at the table beside her, her eyes startled out of the music's spell and back to reality. "'Sokay, lady," I assured her, letting my words slur together. "'Smy table, but you can sit here. Pretty music, isn't it?"

"Yes," she murmured, looking me up and down uncertainly.

I looked at Weldon. His eyes were on me now, too, the beginnings of a troubled crease forming between his eyebrows. He knew I hadn't been nearly this drunk, and had to be wondering what was going on. The sooner I got this over with, the better.

"Yeah, pretty music," I repeated, adding enthusiasm to my voice as I retrieved my glass and gestured toward Weldon with it. The enthusiasm in my voice leaked out into equal enthusiasm in my arm --

And the last remaining inch of beer splattered across the back of Amanda's coat.

"Gosh dang crikey," I exclaimed as she jerked reflexively. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. Here -- let me get that."

I scooped up the slightly damp napkin that had been under the glass and began daubing at her coat with it. "No -- please -- it's all right," she assured me, trying to move away. "Please."

But I had a solid grip on the back of her coat collar, and I outweighed her by fifty pounds, so she wasn't going anywhere. "Sorry," I said again, ignoring her protests as I brushed industriously at her coat with the napkin. The music was still variations on Amanda's song,