I went in and paid $7.98 for essentially the same assortment that had set me back $4.98 on the West Side. Ah, well. No doubt this chap had higher rent to pay. In any event, I might get another quarter from Ms. Tremaine, and that would offset some of my expenses.

Leona Tremaine, I wrote once more on the outside of the envelope. And, on the card, Won’t you say I’m forgiven? Donald Brown.

The staff had turned over at the Charlemagne. I recognized the concierge and the doorman from the night before, but if my face was familiar they didn’t remark on it. Last night I’d been a guest of a tenant, all decked out in suit and tie, while today I was a short-sleeved member of the working class. If either of them recognized me, he probably assumed he’d seen me delivering flowers another time.

Again the concierge offered to see that the flowers were delivered, and again I insisted on making the delivery in person, and again the doorman snickered, guessing that I wanted my tip. It was nice to see they all had their lines down pat. The concierge announced me on the intercom and Eduardo took me up to the ninth floor, where Ms. Tremaine was waiting in the doorway of her apartment.

“Why, it’s you again,” she said. “I can’t understand this at all. Are you sure these flowers are for me?”

“The card says-”

“The card, the card, the card,” she said, and opened its envelope. “‘Won’t you say I’m forgiven? Donald Brown.’ What a curious sentiment. More specific than fondly, I daresay, but rather more baffling. Who is this Donald Brown and why am I to forgive him?”

The elevator had not gone away.

“I’m supposed to ask if there’s a reply,” I said.

“A reply? A reply? To whom am I supposed to address this reply? It’s quite clear to me that I’m not the intended recipient of these flowers, and yet how could such a mistake have been made? I no more know of another Leona Tremaine than I know any Donald Brown. Unless it’s someone I knew years ago whose name has apparently slipped my recollection.” Her hands, tipped with persimmon-colored nails, unwrapped the elusive Mr. Brown’s offering. “Lovely,” she said. “Lovelier than the last, but I don’t understand why they’ve been given to me. I don’t begin to understand it.”