He interrupted her. “Jenny, you’re cold. I’m so terribly sorry.” His hand was under her arm. He was propelling her toward the gallery door, opening it for her.

He immediately began to study the placement of his paintings, remarking how fortunate it was that the last three had arrived. “Fortunate for the shipper,” he added, smiling.

Jenny followed him around as he made a meticulous inspection, stopping twice to straighten canvases that were hanging a hairbreadth off-center. When he was finished, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Why did you put Spring Plowing next to Harvest?” he asked.

“It’s the same field, isn’t it?” Jenny asked. “I felt a continuity between plowing the ground and then seeing the harvest. I just wish there was a summer scene as well.”

“There is,” he told her. “I didn’t choose to send it.”

Jenny glanced at the clock over the door. It was nearly noon. “Mr. Krueger, if you don’t mind, I’m going to settle you in Mr. Hartley’s private office. Mr. Hartley’s made a luncheon reservation for you and him at the Russian Tea Room for one o’clock. He’ll be along soon and I’m going to go out now for a quick sandwich.”

Erich Krueger helped her on with her coat. “Mr. Hartley is going to have to eat alone today,” he said. “I’m very hungry and I intend to go to lunch with you. Unless, of course, you’re meeting someone?”

“No, I’m going to get something fast at the drugstore.”

“We’ll try the Tea Room. I imagine they’ll find room for us.”

She went under protest, knowing Mr. Hartley would be furious, knowing that her hold on her job was becoming increasingly more precarious. She was late much too often. She’d had to stay home two days last week because Tina had croup. But she realized she wasn’t being given a choice.