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fame and God knows what will happen to her then!”
    Here Mr. Thornton joined them. “Where did you meet her, Alice? She’s quite a lion, isn’t she?”
    â€œI suppose she is and I was thrilled when she accepted my invitation. We met at a luncheon an old friend of her mother’s gave for her and I’ve known Mrs. Eliot for ages. We’ve been on various committees—to raise money for the Museum, for instance. Anna’s mother is a very vital woman, Italian, as outspoken as her daughter. I expect that’s where Anna gets it from. She married Dr. Lindstrom, you know, the neurologist who died some years ago. She has the most wonderful laugh—I’d walk a mile to hear Teresa laugh! After luncheon Anna very gracefully sang for us … I liked her a lot, quite apart from her marvelous voice. And so,” Alice said, “it all seemed quite simple.”
    â€œI gather she doesn’t like going out into society,” Mr. Thornton said.
    â€œWe’re not that exciting, are we?” Ambrose Upton said.
    â€œBut she has all the excitement she can use in her career … she doesn’t want excitement,” Dr. Springer said. “What does she want?”
    â€œRecognition—the real thing. Fame.” Ambrose Upton said instantly.
    â€œAnd she doesn’t have that? I seem to see her name rather often on concert programs these days,” Dr. Springer said.
    â€œNot quite,” Thornton answered. “She’s a tantalizing step from fame, but she’s not a household word, not yet.”
    â€œShe’s never married?” Dr. Springer asked.
    â€œOh, she’s absolutely single-minded about her art. I don’t believe she’ll ever marry.” Alice said.
    â€œI think she has to marry!” Dr. Springer said with such conviction it brought a smile.
    â€œYou?” Alice Upton teased.
    â€œGod forbid! I’m not out to marry a lion, I’m much too selfish.” He laughed and then added more soberly, “Love, a passionate encounter, might provide the missing link, lift her right out of the almost-successful into the first rank.”
    â€œIt’s a physiological matter, you think?” Alice asked with a twinkle in her eye.
    â€œIn a way, yes.”
    And there the subject was dropped.

Chapter III
    Five months had passed since Ned Fraser had lunched at the Ritz with Ernesta Aldrich. Anna had been away on concerts, had sung in San Francisco and at Wolf Trap, and Ned had gone to Europe for a month, to the music festival in Aix-en-Provence. Autumn was in the air and he felt exhilarated by the gold in the leaves, observing that the tulips of May had now changed to chrysanthemums in the borders, thinking that soon the swan boats would be put to bed for the winter. On an impulse he turned down toward the pond to see what was what.
    And there under the bridge on the other side he saw the flash of a red coat, and a woman with black hair taking bread out of a paper bag to give to a flotilla of ducks.
    â€œAnna!” he called, surprised by the sheer joy of seeing her into using her first name.
    She did not smile as she lifted her head and looked across, wondering who had called, or whether she had dreamed that her name had been spoken by a man standing on the other side, but by then Ned had run up the stairs, across the bridge, and down to her, the pent up longing of months giving him wings.
    â€œDid you fly?” she asked. “You were over there a second ago.”
    â€œNed Fraser,” he introduced himself as she seemed not to recognize who he was.
    â€œOf course!”
    â€œImagine finding Anna Lindstrom here feeding the ducks!”
    â€œI’m here quite often. My hairdresser is just around the corner.” She gave him a curious glance and felt rather caught. Such an unexpected circumstance. Such a strange way to be confronted by Ned Fraser, too rich and too powerful, whom she had determined not to