“I thought she was all right,” Grace said.

Ethel hit the jackpot again. “Well, she don’t look good to me. She’s got a kind of flush. I noticed it.”

Kate spoke very softly. “Don’t you girls ever let her know I told you. She wouldn’t want you to worry. What a dear she is!”

“Best goddam house I ever hustled,” said Grace.

Alice said, “You better not let her hear you talk words like that.”

“Balls!” said Grace. “She knows all the words.”

“She don’t like to hear them—not from us.”

Kate said patiently, “I want to tell you what happened. I was having tea with her late this afternoon and she fainted dead away. I do wish she’d see a doctor.”

“I noticed she had a kind of bright flush,” Ethel repeated. “That clock’s way wrong but I forget which way.”

Kate said, “You girls go on to bed. I’ll lock up.”

When they were gone Kate went to her room and put on her pretty new print dress that made her look like a little girl. She brushed and braided her hair and let it hang behind in one thick pigtail tied with a little white bow. She patted her cheeks with Florida water. For a moment she hesitated, and then from the top bureau drawer she took a little gold watch that hung from a fleur-de-lis pin. She wrapped it in one of her fine lawn handkerchiefs and went out of the room.

The hall was very dark, but a rim of light showed under Faye’s door. Kate tapped softly.

Faye called, “Who is it?”

“It’s Kate.”

“Don’t you come in yet. You wait outside. I’ll tell you when.” Kate heard a rustling and a scratching in the room. Then Faye called, “All right. Come in.”

The room was decorated. Japanese lanterns with candles in them hung on bamboo sticks at the corners, and red crepe paper twisted in scallops from the center to the corners to give the effect of a tent. On the table, with candlesticks around it, was a big white cake and a box of chocolates, and beside these a basket with a magnum of champagne peeking out of crushed ice. Faye wore her best lace dress and her eyes were shiny with emotion.

“What in the world?” Kate cried. She closed the door. “Why, it looks like a party!”

“It is a party. It’s a party for my dear daughter.”

“It’s not my birthday.” Faye said, “In a way maybe it is.”

“I don’t know what you mean. But I brought you a present.” She laid the folded handkerchief in Faye’s lap. “Open it carefully,” she said.

Faye held the watch up. “Oh, my dear, my dear! You crazy child! No, I can’t take it.” She opened the face and then picked open the back with her fingernail. It was engraved.—”To C. with all my heart from A.”

“It was my mother’s watch,” Kate said softly. “I would like my new mother to have it.”

“My darling child! My darling child!”

“Mother would be glad.”

“But it’s my party. I have a present for my dear daughter—but I’ll have to do it in my own way. Now, Kate, you open the bottle of wine and pour two glasses while I cut the cake. I want it to be fancy.”

When everything was ready Faye took her seat behind the table. She raised her glass. “To my new daughter—may you have long life and happiness.” And when they had drunk Kate proposed, “To my mother.” Faye said, “You’ll make me cry—don’t make me cry. Over on the bureau, dear. Bring the little mahogany box. There that’s the one. Now put it on the table here and open it.”

In the polished box lay a rolled white paper tied with a red ribbon. “What in the world is it?” Kate asked. “It’s my gift to you. Open it.”

Kate very carefully untied the red ribbon and unrolled the tube. It was written elegantly with shaded letters, and it was well and carefully drawn and witnessed by the cook.

“All my worldly goods without exception to Kate Albey because I regard her as my daughter.”

It was simple, direct, and legally irreproachable. Kate read it three times, looked back at the date, studied the cook’s signature. Faye watched her, and her lips were parted in expectation. When Kate’s lips moved, reading, Faye’s lips moved.

Kate rolled the paper and tied the ribbon around it and put it in the box and closed the lid. She sat in her chair.

Faye said at last, “Are you pleased?”

Kate’s eyes seemed to peer into and beyond Faye’s eyes—to penetrate the brain behind the eyes. Kate said quietly, “I’m trying to hold on, Mother. I didn’t know anyone could be so good. I’m afraid if I say anything too quickly or come too close to you, I’ll break to pieces.”

It was more dramatic than Faye had anticipated, quiet and electric. Faye said, “It’s a funny present, isn’t it?”

“Funny? No, it isn’t funny.”

“I mean, a will is a strange present. But it means more than that. Now you are my real daughter I can tell you. I—no, we—have cash and securities in excess of sixty thousand dollars. In my desk are notations of accounts and safe-deposit boxes. I sold the place in Sacramento for a very good price. Why are you so silent, child? Is something bothering you?”

“A will sounds like death. That’s thrown a pall.”

“But everyone should make a will.”

“I know, Mother.” Kate smiled ruefully. “A thought crossed my mind. I thought of all your kin coming in angrily to break such a will as this. You can’t do this.”