Jane thought Desiree had finally gone over the edge. She looked at Shelley with alarm.

Shelley giggled and whispered, "Naked ladies are those pink lilylike flowers that come up in the late summer. You know, the ones that don't have any foliage.”

Jane sighed. "I'm so relieved. I was picturing unclad virgins artfully strewn all over the corner lot and wondering how I could have missed it.”

Desiree, courageous as ever, called across the room to Mrs. Pryce, "My dear! Such a bad color for you—blue. You have a red aura, you know."

“Utter nonsense!" Mrs. Pryce exclaimed.

“No, not at all. I'm very tuned in to these things." "You're drunk! As usual!”

Desiree glared at her for a moment, then laughed shrilly. "Drunk on the joy of life, perhaps," she replied before turning her attention to the man at the edge of the room. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Desiree Loftus."

“How do you do. I'm Robert Neufield. My friends call me Bob."

“Oh, I do hope I'm going to be among them, Bob." She gave him a dazzling smile and turned to survey the room for other conversational victims. "Jane! Shelley! And who are you? No, don't tell me. You must be a relative of Jane's. It's the eyebrows. They tell everything! People don't pay nearly enough attention to eyebrows these days.”

As the introductions were going on, Jane heard Grady Wells's characteristic hearty laughter in the hallway. He came in the room with Missy, who was smiling—until her eye fell on Mrs. Pryce ensconced center front. Grady, chunky and florid-faced, took a seat by Bob Neufield, and Missy went to her desk and started sorting out her notes.