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Jenny said.
    â€œIf she was here,” Mary reasoned, “Sue’s mother wouldn’t even ask us. She’s only doing it because she feels sorry for us because she thinks we’re starving to death.”
    â€œYou’re right, Mary,” Jenny said. “Sometimes you amaze me with your smartness.” Mary’s face flushed with pleasure at the unexpected compliment.
    To their surprise, their father said, “Why not?” when informed of the impending invitation. When the telephone rang that night, their father answered. They listened intently to every word and thought he handled himself very well. “Of course,” he said. “That’s exceedingly kind of you. We’d like to come. Seven it is. Thanks so much.”
    How suave he was, they thought, smiling at each other. How proud they were of him. Not an unnecessary word. He had met Mrs. Clay only once or twice and Mr. Clay never. What on earth would the grown-ups find to talk about? They didn’t think their father, the geologist, would have a lot in common with the Clays.
    They briefed him. “Susan’s father is a radio announcer, Daddy,” they said, “and her mother works at the bank.”
    â€œWell, that’s all right, then,” their father reassured them. “I can talk about world events and the weather to him and talk about money, about which I know practically nothing, to Mrs. Clay.” He grinned at them, and they smiled back, nervously.
    â€œWhy don’t we go without eating a couple of days before we go to dinner?” Jenny suggested. “That way we’ll look really skinny and we can eat up a storm and Susan’s mother will be really glad she asked us.”
    â€œDress up,” Susan ordered. “My mother likes guests to look nice as long as she goes to all that trouble.”
    â€œOh, boy,” said Jenny. “You think she’s having courses and candles and napkins?”
    â€œHow do I know?” Mary said, already planning to wear her dark green number bought on sale last year at Breslow’s, and a new black velvet ribbon to hold back her hair.
    Jenny settled on her only dress, a yellow one with a full skirt and a belt in back. She plucked it, unironed, from the bowels of the laundry basket, smoothed it and placed it under her mattress, where it spent the night. In the morning it was perfect, she thought. As perfect as it would ever be. Under it she wore red underpants, plainly visible as she had no slip. Mary was just glad she had on underpants at all and insisted Jenny wear a cast-off slip she’d outgrown. Their father, a most uncritical man, told them they looked like proper ladies. They knew he meant it kindly, but it did not buoy their spirits. In honor of the occasion, Jenny painted her toenails bright red. She considered putting on eye shadow as well, but Mary put her foot down. “Eleven-year-old people do not wear eye shadow,” Mary said.
    The night of the dinner party their father came home early, showered and changed his shirt, and they set off. In his arms he cradled a bottle of wine as if it were a newborn baby. A wine, he assured them, of uncertain origin and full of presumption. They loved the way their father talked even when they weren’t exactly sure of what he meant. They loved the way he put words together.
    As if she’d been hiding behind the door, Susan’s mother flung it open at their approach and shouted, “Well, this is a surprise!” They figured she meant to say, “Well, this is a pleasure!” and she had goofed. They loved nothing better than when grown-ups goofed. It was reassuring, if nothing else.
    â€œSue’s upstairs with her cousins,” Mrs. Clay said. “They popped in this afternoon. We’re just thrilled. They’ll all be down in a few minutes. Just go into the family room, and I’ll be with you in a minute.”
    Two people, dressed in identical pale blue