At four-thirty the blonde girl entered the store. Rhoda almost failed to recognize her at first, hadn’t thought of her since the night before. The blonde girl came directly over to her, and Rhoda thought that she was returning the little heart. The idea that her choice had been unsuccessful made her strangely unhappy, as though she herself had failed.

But the girl said, “I was just passing by. I thought I would come in.”

“I’m glad you did.” She hesitated. “Did your friend like the heart?”

“I don’t know. I mailed it to her.”

“Oh, you should have told me she lived out-of-town. I would have sent it right from here-”

“She’s in town,” the girl said. Her voice was oddly strained. “I just thought I would put it in the mail, just on the spur of the moment.” She paused, then looked directly into Rhoda’s eyes. Her own eyes were green, Rhoda saw.

“When do you finish work?”

“Why…five-thirty. Why?”

“Would you have dinner with me?”

“I-”

“I don’t feel like eating alone tonight,” the girl went on “I’d like company. Unless you’re busy-”

She remembered how the girl had looked the night before, in Washington Square. A study in loneliness. She said, “No, I’m not busy.”

“Then I’ll pick you up here? In an hour or so?”

“Well, I ought to change-”

“You look lovely,” the girl said. “We’ll just grab a bite in the neighborhood. About five-thirty?”

“All right.”

The blonde girl’s smile was almost radiant. “My name is Megan,” she said. “Megan Hollis, sometimes called Meg. But not too often because I don’t much care for it. And you’re-”

She gave her name.

“Rhoda,” Megan repeated. Her eyes took in Rhoda’s face, swept downward, then up again. “A nice name. I like it. It fits you.”