He laid money on the bar, but when the bartender delivered the drink, he said, "It's on the gentleman at the end of the bar."

John, uncomfortable, looked down the bar. A middle-aged, silver-haired stout Irishman waved friendlily at him.

Well, he doesn't look like a pervert.

He waved his thanks.

"I wondered if you would come back in here," the beautiful older woman said, behind him.

"Jesus!"

"How was your dinner?"

"The food wasn't bad," John said.

"But the rest was awful?" she asked. "Mine, too."

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Yes, please," she said. "But I insist on paying."

"I can pay," he said. "I want to."

"I think I have a little more money than a Marine Sergeant," she said.

"Don't be too sure," he said. "You weren't at my dinner."

"It was a money dinner? Have you noticed that talking about money at dinner ruins the taste of the food?"

He laughed.

"Yes," he said. "Is that the voice of experience?"

"Yes," she said. "Unfortunately. Over a Bookbinder's lobster, my soon-to-be ex-husband and I fought politely over the division of property."

"I'm sorry," John said.

"Yes, Miss?" the bartender asked.

"What are you drinking?" she asked John.

"Famous Grouse," he said.

"Fine," she said to the bartender. She turned to John. "Why is it that now that I see you again I don't think you're a lonely marine, far from home and loved ones?"

"I'm from here," he said. "That may have something to do with it. And I just had dinner with my uncle."

She chuckled. "You are also far more articulate than you were on the train," she said. "What was with you on the train?"

"I thought you had caught me staring at you," he said.

"I had," she said. "Why were you?"

"Because you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"I can't believe that," she said.

"Why did you come back in here?" John asked.

"Ooooh," she said, and then looked at him. "Right to the bone, right? OK. I thought maybe you would be in here."

"I am."

"Did you come in here to pick up a girl?"

"I came in because I didn't want to go home and face my father," John said evenly.

"You did something wrong?"

"He did."

"That's the money you were talking about?"

He nodded.

"And because I had the crazy idea you might be here."

"I am," she said.

"I think maybe I'm dreaming and will wake up any second," John said.

"It's like a dream for me too," she said. "A bad dream. I had the odd notion that when I met my husband, that we could... patch things up. But what he wanted was the Spode... his beloved saw the Spode and wanted it... You know what I mean by Spode?"

"China."

"... and the monogrammed silver. I mean, after all, it would have no meaning for me anymore, would it? I'll certainly remarry in time, won't I?"

"I'm sorry," John said.

"And then here I am, in a bar, more than a little drunk, with a Marine. A boy Marine. Bad dream."

"I'm not a boy," John said, hurt.

"Yes, you are," she said, laughing.

"Well, fuck you!"

There you go, asshole. You fucked it up. Why the fucking hell did you say that?

"Sorry," he said, in anguish.

She opened her purse and he thought she was looking for a cigarette and remembered that Uncle Bill had taken his Zippo so he couldn't light it for her.

But her hand came out of the purse with a five-dollar bill. She dropped it on the bar and stood up.

Now she's going to walk out of here, and I will never see her again.

She looked into his face.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get out of here."

She walked to the side door; and in a moment he followed her. She waited for him to open the door for her, and walked out. Then she put her hand on his arm.

"As long as we both understand this is insane..." she said.

"Where are we going?"

"Rittenhouse Square," she said. "We-I-have an apartment there."

There was a hand on Sergeant John Marston Moore's shoulder and a voice calling gently, "Hey!"

He opened his eyes. He was lying belly down on a bed, his arm and head hanging over the edge. He could see a dark red carpet and a naked foot, obviously a female foot. This observation was immediately confirmed when he saw that the leg attached to the foot disappeared under a pale blue robe.

He remembered where he was, and what had happened, and rolled over onto his back.

She was standing there, holding a cup of coffee out to him.

I don't even know her name!

"Hi!" she said.

"Hi," he replied, looking into her eyes. "What's that?"

"Coffee," she said.

"Coffee?"

"You said you had your father's car. I don't want you driving drunk."

"You're throwing me out?"

"I'm sending you home."

"Why?"

"Didn't we both get what we were looking for?"

"We gave each other what the other needed would be a nicer way to put it."

"All right," she said. "Yes, we did. I hope I did. I know you did. But now it's time to come back to the real world."

"And for me to go home."

"Right."

"I don't want to go home. I want to stay here with you, forever."

"That's obviously out of the question."

He sat up. She tried to hand him the cup and saucer. He avoided it.

She touched the top of his head.

"You are really very sweet," she said.

He tilted his head back to look up at her. She smiled.

He reached up for the cord of her robe.

"Don't do that."

He ignored her.

The robe fell open when he pulled the cord free.

He put his arms around her and his face against her belly.

He heard her take in her breath, and her hand dropped to the small of his neck.

"Oh God!" she said.

Her navel was next to his mouth and he kissed it.

"I'm going to spill the coffee."

"Put the coffee on the floor and take the robe off."

"And if I do, then will you go?"

"No."

She dropped to her knees and put the cup and saucer on the floor, shrugged out of the robe, and then turned her face to him and kissed him.

"Oh, Baby, what am I going to do with you?"

"I don't know about that," he said. "But I know what I'm going to do to you."

He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her onto the bed and looked down at her.