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my God," she cried inwardly. She tore her eyes open, and there was Eric with a bunch of fresh roses.

  • * *

Eric sat at the table; enjoying bread and cheese, eggs and milk. He sat like a solid rock in a dissolving landscape. Anna perched near him, lost in thought, her fingers playing with the hem of her dress. She was still angry; her mind was obsessed with Eric's failure to show up the previous night, and she tried desperately to focus her thoughts on other matters.

"Why don't you eat?" Eric asked as he munched away.

"I've already eaten," she snapped.

"Where? In your dreams?"

"No, outside, in a restaurant," Anna answered and threw him a quick glance. "Someone invited me."

"Who?" Eric said, the cheese still in his mouth. "The South American-yes?" He looked at her with his sharp gaze. "Don't stall me, I can see you have something on your mind."

Anna didn't answer. She took satisfaction in noticing how his lips twisted, how a gray shadow drove the glow from his cheeks, how his eyes fixed in a cold glare. Anna tried stratagem. Coquettishly she tossed her head and said, with averted eyes:

"If you had been here yesterday, you would have seen for yourself."

The glow returned to Eric's face and he breathed a relieved sigh.

"Ah, you little witch!" he exclaimed. He jumped up from the table, seized her by the waist and lifted her in his strong arms. "Why didn't you tell me in the first place that you were jealous?"

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