She bolted awake in the large bed which was awash in a sea of silks, furs, and red curtains. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. “Just remember, I have to make this up to you. May I go on a date tomorrow night with John Diedermayer?\" She did not look at Mike, who she knew would be wounded. You're a friend of the young man?" "If you mean did I know him before he became ill, no. She had noticed a twenty year pattern emerging, and funny how opportunity seemed to strike just when she was getting truly anxious.
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