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That night, after Hamilton left, Evelyn found herself quietly weeping. The tears were just one aspect of the whirlwind of emotions that had overwhelmed her. She felt an immense sense of irresponsibility, a shock at the unexpected and unfamiliar feelings she was experiencing. Her husband’s reproach seemed to stare at her from every item in her home, reminders of the life he had provided for her. But it was Taylor’s unspoken reproach, carried on the wings of a fierce and overpowering love that had awakened within her, that struck the hardest.

Amid this turmoil, there was also a moment of clarity. Evelyn felt as if a veil had been lifted, allowing her to see and understand the complex nature of life—a blend of beauty and brutality. Despite the conflicting emotions that swirled around her, she felt neither shame nor remorse. What lingered was a dull pang of regret, not for the kiss itself, but for the realization that it wasn’t love that had ignited this fire within her. It was not love that had brought this intoxicating, bittersweet cup of life to her lips.

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Without waiting for her husband’s opinion or wishes, Evelyn hastened her preparations to leave their home on Esplanade Street and move into the little house around the block. A feverish anxiety drove her every action. There was no deliberation, no moment of repose between the thought and its fulfillment. Early the next morning, after spending the previous evening with Hamilton, Evelyn set about securing her new abode and hurried her arrangements to occupy it. Within the walls of her home, she felt like an intruder in a forbidden temple, haunted by a thousand muffled voices urging her to leave.

Everything that was hers, everything she had acquired aside from her husband’s bounty, she transported to the new house, filling simple and meager deficiencies from her own resources. Hamilton found her with rolled-up sleeves, working alongside the housemaid when he stopped by in the afternoon. She looked splendid and robust, more beautiful than ever in an old blue gown, with a red silk handkerchief knotted around her head to protect her hair from the dust. She was on a high stepladder, unhooking a picture from the wall when he entered. Finding the front door open, he had walked in unceremoniously.

“Come down!” he said. “Do you want to kill yourself?” She greeted him with affected carelessness, absorbed in her task.

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If he had expected to find her languishing or indulging in sentimental tears, he must have been greatly surprised. He seemed prepared for any emotional display but bent easily and naturally to the situation before him.

“Please come down,” he insisted, holding the ladder and looking up at her.

“No,” she replied. “Ellen is afraid to mount the ladder. Joe is working over at the ‘pigeon house’—that’s what Ellen calls it because it’s so small and looks like a pigeon house—and someone has to do this.”

Hamilton took off his coat, ready to help. Ellen brought him one of her dust caps, bursting into uncontrollable laughter when he put it on as grotesquely as he could. Evelyn couldn’t help but smile as she fastened it at his request. So, he climbed the ladder, unhooking pictures and curtains and dislodging ornaments as Evelyn directed. When he finished, he removed his dust cap and went to wash his hands.

Evelyn was sitting on a tabouret, idly brushing the tips of a feather duster along the carpet when he returned.

“Is there anything more you will let me do?” he asked.

“That is all,” she answered. “Ellen can manage the rest.” She kept the young woman occupied in the drawing-room, unwilling to be alone with Hamilton.

“What about the dinner?” he asked. “The grand event, the coup d’état?”

“It will be the day after tomorrow. Why do you call it the ‘coup d’état?’ Oh, it will be very fine—crystal, silver and gold, Sèvres, flowers, music, and champagne to swim in. I’ll let Léonce pay the bills. I wonder what he’ll say when he sees them.”

“And you ask why I call it a coup d’état?” Hamilton had put on his coat and stood before her, asking if his cravat was straight. She told him it was, looking no higher than the tip of his collar.

“When do you move to the ‘pigeon house’?”

“The day after tomorrow, after the dinner. I shall sleep there.”

“Ellen, will you kindly get me a glass of water?” asked Hamilton. “The dust in the curtains, if you will pardon me, has parched my throat.”

“While Ellen gets the water,” said Evelyn, rising, “I will say goodbye and let you go. I must get rid of this grime, and I have a million things to do.”

“When shall I see you?” asked Hamilton, trying to detain her.

“At the dinner, of course. You are invited.”

“Not before? Not tonight, tomorrow morning, or noon? Can’t you see, without my telling you, how long an eternity it feels?”

He followed her into the hall and to the foot of the stairway, looking up as she ascended with her face half-turned to him.

“Not a moment sooner,” she said, but she laughed and looked at him with eyes that gave him the courage to wait and made it torture to do so.