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There was a question which I wanted to ask Professor Donaldson so I made my way, against traffic, down to the front of the room. Introducing myself to her, I said: "Hi, my name is David Phelps."

She smiled, offering her hand. We briefly shook hands.

I followed up with: "I won't keep you very long Dr. Donaldson, but I wanted to compliment you on your responses to the audience's queries. I'm afraid a rather untimely set of traffic foul-ups prevented me from hearing the prepared part of your presentation, and on the basis of your post-lecture performance, I would say my loss is considerable."

She smiled and replied: "You're very kind. However, I strongly suspect there may be a number of people who came today who do not share your opinion of what went on."

Thinking of Dr. Jameson and, possibly, Dr. Clarke, I silently agreed with her but found myself saying: "Really, what makes you think so?"

She arched her eyebrows, slowly angled her head in a way that seemed to allude to unknown knowledge, and shrugged. She smiled and looked away.

I used the silence as a natural lead-in to the question I had wanted to ask. "Actually, Dr. Donaldson, if the topic is not too personal, I was wondering how you came to have so much knowledge and insight into Muslim groups and things Islamic. Are you Muslim?"

She looked at me for a brief instant, as if she were trying to assess what was motivating the question and the interest. Eventually, she said: "No, I'm not Muslim, but my husband is. We have a number of Muslim friends, some of whom are women.

"Whatever understanding of Islam and Muslims I have comes mostly from them and my husband. I've also done a little bit of research on my own to supplement my personal connection."

Although she had answered the question forthrightly, I sensed there was some sort of uncomfortableness on her part in relation to the topic. Feeling I may have intruded into sensitive issues, I decided to make good my retreat.

I smiled and extended my hand toward her, saying, as I did: "Well, wherever the understanding comes from, I found it very informative and enlightening. I just want, again, to say I really did enjoy the part of your presentation that I was able to hear."

She met my hand with hers and gave a smile in acknowledgment and appreciation of my words.

I turned to leave when another question occurred to me.

Stopping, I turned around. "This is neither here nor there as a question," I said, "but are you associated with the Bettinger Foundation in any way?"

An undecipherable, and somewhat strange, look winked into and out of existence on her face. "No," she answered simply.

I decided not to pursue it further. I nodded my head in thanks for her answer, waved my hand in a gesture of departure, and left.

Having decided to skip refreshments, I was on my way toward the exit, when Dr. Jameson addressed me from behind. "Leaving so soon, Dr. Phelps?"

Turning, I said: "Yeah, I've had a long day. Moreover, getting stuck in traffic on the way here didn't help things any."

"Ah!" he said, in a way that seemed to indicate an important puzzle had been solved. "We were wondering what had been keeping you.

"Oh, what a shame," he exclaimed. "There were some people who had come today, and I wanted you to meet them."

I shook my head. "Sorry, Dr. Jameson. Maybe another time."

Dr. Jameson just stood there, not saying or doing anything which could be interpreted as a signal that helped bring the exchange to closure. In fact, he seemed to want to say something else but looked like he was having trouble formulating it in an acceptable manner.

Since Dr. Jameson appeared reluctant to let me go on my way, I lied a little: "Well, I do apologize for running out on you like this, but there are a few errands I have to look after before I can consider myself a free man."

"Yes, yes," he replied, and, then, added: "Of course," in a sort of preoccupied manner. He stuck out his hand to bid me farewell.

As I took his hand, he said: "I hope there was nothing in Professor Donaldson's talk which upset you and is causing you to depart prematurely. I noticed you were speaking to her at the end of the session."

His words felt like they had a probing quality to them. He was hoping, perhaps, that I might give an account of what had gone on between Dr. Donaldson and myself. His curiosity or interest had an odd quality to it.

"No, not at all," I remarked. "Why would you think that?" I asked.

My question appeared to embarrass him. He was flustered for a moment.

Finally, he stammered: "Yes, yes, you're quite right. There is no reason for me to think anything of the sort."

He followed, somewhat hurriedly I thought, with: "I'm glad you could come Dr. Phelps." He was ushering me toward the door.

As we neared the door, he inquired: "So, when do you think we might be hearing from you concerning the consulting proposal? I don't wish to rush you on this, Dr. Phelps, but, if you will recall, during our luncheon conversation, I did indicate there were going to be some activities this summer that are being sponsored by the Bettinger Foundation.

"I do believe you might find them to be of interest. Furthermore, I have absolutely no doubt those programs would benefit tremendously from your presence and participation."

We walked through the open doorway, and I took a few steps toward the down escalator before stopping. Facing him, I asked: "Would ten days be too long?"

"Ten days is fine," he responded. "The programs I have in mind won't be kicking in until the end of the month, so, if you decide to join us, ten days from now will leave us plenty of time to work out some possibilities."

"Good," I said. "I'll be in touch with you somewhere around the 16th or 17th, then, Dr. Jameson."

I turned, took a few steps, and hopped onto the escalator. I smiled and waved good-by as I was sinking out of sight.

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