She filled a big pitcher and set it, with glasses, on a tray. Carrying it to the living room, she imagined the picture she made: tall and roundly slim, a bit sophisticated in her yellow sheath, with a graceful swingy walk that she had learned as a twirler with the school band. Almost immediately she was ashamed of herself for feeling vain, at such a time, in such a place, and she tossed back her long yellow hair, smiling shyly as she entered the room.

Howard (the thick middle-aged man) was looking at her. She felt the look and looked back because she could not help it, seeing that he was neither as old nor as thick as she had at first believed.

``And who is this?'' he asked, when she passed him a glass.

``Oh that's Linda Kay,'' Mama Albright said fondly. ``She married our baby boy, Bobby Joe, this summer.''

``Let's see,'' Cousin Ada said. ``He's a right smart younger than the rest?''

``Oh yes,'' Mama laughed. ``He's ten years younger than Ernest. We didn't expect him to come along; thought for the longest he was a tumor.''

This joke was not funny to Linda Kay, and she blushed, as she always did; then, hearing the muffled boom of Howard's laughter, blushed redder.

``Who is Howard, anyway?'' she asked Bobby Joe that night. ``He makes me uncomfortable.''

``Oh he's a second cousin or something. He got in the oil business out at Odessa and lucked into some money.''

``How old is he?''