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dressed in a dark green, wool crepe sheath accented with an apple green scarf, one of the outfits she had purchased recently to wear to her father's must-attend events.
    "Most of my Sunday afternoons are spent in a bulky sweater and jeans," she told him. "Is that a more comfortable picture?"
    Anxious to be away from the sight of her father gushing over Binky, and not anxious to run into her sister, Susan had left soon afterwards-though not before one of her friends whispered that Alex Wright was the son of the late Alexander Wright, the legendary philanthropist. "Wright Library; Wright Museum of Art; Wright Center for the Performing Arts. Big, big bucks!" she had whispered.
    Susan studied the message left by her sister. He is very attractive, she thought. Hmmm.
    Corey Marcus, her twelve-year-old patient, tested well. But as they talked, Susan was reminded that psychology involves the emotions more than the intellect. The boy's parents had been divorced when he was two, but they had continued to live near each other, had stayed friendly, and for ten years he had gone comfortably from home to home. But now his mother had been offered a job in San Francisco, and the comfortable arrangement was suddenly threatened.
    Corey struggled to blink back tears as he said, "I know she wants to take the job, but if she does, it means I won't see much of my dad."
    Intellectually, he appreciated what this job opportunity meant to his mother's career. Emotionally, he hoped she would turn down the job rather than separate him from his father.
    "What do you think she should do?" Susan asked.
    He thought for a moment. "I guess Mom really should take the job. It's not fair for her to have to pass it up."
    What a good kid, Susan thought. Now her job was to help him put a positive spin on the change the move would make in his life.
    Esther Foster, the sixty-five-year-old soon-to-be retiree who came in at two o'clock, looked drawn and pale. "Two weeks till the big party, translated as 'clean out your desk, Essy.' " Her face crumbled. "I've given my life to this job, Dr. Chandler," she said. "I recently ran into a man I could have married who now is very successful. He and his wife have a wonderful life together."
    "Are you saying you're sorry you didn't marry him?" Susan asked quietly.
    "Yes, I am!"
    Susan looked steadily into Esther Foster's eyes. After a moment a hint of a smile pulled at the corners of the woman's mouth. "He was dull as dishwater then, and he hasn't improved that much since, Dr. Chandler," she admitted. "But at least I wouldn't be alone."
    "Let's define the meaning of alone,'" Susan suggested.
    When Esther Foster left at quarter of three, Janet appeared with a container of chicken soup and a package of crackers.
    Less than a minute later, Janet informed her that Regina Clausen's mother and her attorney, Douglas Layton, were in the reception area.
    "Put them in the conference room," Susan directed. "I'll see them there."
    Jane Clausen looked very much the same as she had when Susan had glimpsed her in the office of the Westchester County District Attorney. Impeccably dressed in a black suit that must have cost the moon, gray hair perfectly coiffed, she had about her an air of reserve that, like her slender hands and ankles, suggested breeding.
    The lawyer, who had been so sharp on the telephone this morning, seemed almost apologetic. "Dr. Chandler, I hope we're not intruding. Mrs. Clausen has something important to show you, and she'd very much like having the opportunity to meet the woman who called in on your program this morning."
    Susan suppressed a smile as she detected a telltale tinge of red beneath his deep tan. Layton's dark blond hair was sun streaked, she noticed, and though he was soberly dressed in a dark business suit and tie, he still somehow managed to give the impression of an outdoor man.
    Sailing, Susan decided for no particular reason.
    She glanced at her watch. It was ten minutes of three, time to get directly