Their con­ver­sa­tion quick­ly turns to Barbara’s admi­ra­tion for Olivia Kings­bury, a poet whose work has pro­found­ly influ­enced her and whose men­tor­ship she now hopes to secure. Emi­ly lis­tens with an air of encour­age­ment, nod­ding at all the right moments while silent­ly apprais­ing the request. Pri­vate­ly, she har­bors reser­va­tions about Kingsbury’s abil­i­ty to guide Bar­bara effec­tive­ly, giv­en her declin­ing health and the unpre­dictabil­i­ty of her moods. Despite these doubts, Emi­ly choos­es her words care­ful­ly, offer­ing sup­port with­out mak­ing any firm com­mit­ments.

In an effort to assess Barbara’s tal­ent and lev­el of com­mit­ment, Emi­ly asks her to share a poem for cri­tique. Bar­bara care­ful­ly selects Faces Change, a deeply per­son­al and emo­tion­al­ly charged piece that explores the shift­ing nature of iden­ti­ty in the wake of trau­ma. She recites the poem with qui­et con­fi­dence, allow­ing her words to paint a vivid pic­ture of pain, trans­for­ma­tion, and resilience. The vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty woven into her vers­es makes it clear that poet­ry is not just a pas­time for her—it is a means of sur­vival and self-def­i­n­i­tion.

Emi­ly absorbs the poem with a com­posed expres­sion, offer­ing mea­sured praise while sug­gest­ing a few refine­ments, most­ly minor adjust­ments to rhythm and word choice. She acknowl­edges Barbara’s unde­ni­able tal­ent but holds back from ful­ly endors­ing her poten­tial, keep­ing her eval­u­a­tion neu­tral. Though her cri­tique is gen­tle, her silence speaks volumes—she sees some­thing in Bar­bara, but whether that some­thing is bril­liance or raw­ness wait­ing to be shaped, she is not yet sure.

As they con­tin­ue talk­ing, Emi­ly weighs the deci­sion of whether to intro­duce Bar­bara to Kings­bury, know­ing the impli­ca­tions of such an endorse­ment. While she admires Barbara’s ambi­tion, she also under­stands the com­plex­i­ties of the lit­er­ary world, par­tic­u­lar­ly the silent but ever-present strug­gles of race and class that dic­tate whose voic­es are ele­vat­ed and whose are side­lined. She remains acute­ly aware of the del­i­cate line she must walk, ensur­ing that her involve­ment does not overex­tend into a com­mit­ment she may lat­er regret.

The evening takes an unex­pect­ed turn when Bar­bara polite­ly excus­es her­self, leav­ing behind an almost untouched cup of tea. Lat­er, Emi­ly shares a know­ing glance with her hus­band, Rod­dy, as they watch a record­ed clip of Bar­bara dis­creet­ly dis­card­ing the tea and opt­ing instead for a cook­ie. Emi­ly chuck­les, explain­ing that she had delib­er­ate­ly served Bar­bara an old, stale blend to test whether she would drink it out of polite­ness. The small social exper­i­ment amus­es them both, reveal­ing Emily’s sub­tle ten­den­cy toward con­trol and cal­cu­lat­ed obser­va­tion.

This inter­ac­tion is more than just a moment of qui­et manipulation—it under­scores the com­plex­i­ties with­in Emily’s char­ac­ter, high­light­ing the inter­play of men­tor­ship, pow­er, and unspo­ken judg­ment. While she extends a hand to Bar­bara in guid­ance, she does so with an aware­ness that every rela­tion­ship, even those built on artis­tic ambi­tion, comes with an inher­ent hier­ar­chy. The dynam­ic between them is not one of uncon­di­tion­al sup­port, but one of care­ful eval­u­a­tion, where every ges­ture, every inter­ac­tion, and every unspo­ken rule car­ries mean­ing beneath the sur­face.

As Bar­bara steps out into the crisp night air, she remains unaware of the qui­et scruti­ny she has just endured. To her, the meet­ing with Emi­ly was a nec­es­sary step toward her lit­er­ary aspi­ra­tions, a chance to gain the favor of some­one who could open doors. But to Emi­ly, it was a test—one that Bar­bara may not have real­ized she was tak­ing. With Kingsbury’s name still left in uncer­tain­ty, and the weight of Emily’s influ­ence lin­ger­ing in the air, the evening clos­es on an ambigu­ous note, set­ting the stage for deep­er ten­sions and shift­ing pow­er dynam­ics in the path ahead.