Jenny studied his picture on the cover of the brochure. And he’s also marvelous-looking, she thought.

At eleven-thirty, Mr. Hartley came over to her. His anxious fretful look had almost disappeared. “Everything’s all right?”

“Everything’s fine,” she assured him. Anticipating his next question she said, “I reconfirmed the caterer. The Times, The New Yorker, Newsweek, Time and Art News critics are definitely coming. We can expect at least eight at the reception, and allowing for gate-crashers about one hundred. We’ll close to the public at three o’clock. That will give the caterer plenty of time to set up.”

“You’re a good girl, Jenny.” Now that everything was in order, Mr. Hartley was relaxed and benign. Wait till she told him that she couldn’t stay till the end of the reception! “Lee just got in,” Jenny continued, referring to her part-time assistant, “so we’re in good shape.” She grinned at him. “Now please stop worrying.”

“I’ll try. Tell Lee I’ll be back before one to have lunch with Mr. Krueger. You go out and get yourself something to eat now, Jenny.”

She watched him march briskly out the door. For the moment there was a lull in the number of new arrivals. She wanted to study the painting in the window. Without bothering to put on a coat, she slipped outside. To get perspective on the work she backed up a few feet from the glass. Passersby on the street, glancing at her and the picture, obligingly walked around her.

The young woman in the painting was sitting in a swing on a porch, facing the setting sun.