accent was atrocious. Anthony would correct her suavely, and Lily
would laugh in childish, unthinking mirth. She gave it up at last.

She never told Howard about it. He had his own difficulties with
his father, and she would not add to them. She managed the house,
checked over the bills and sent them to the office, put up a
cheerful and courageous front, and after a time sheathed herself
in an armor of smiling indifference. But she thanked heaven when
the time came to send Lily away to school. The effort of
concealing the armed neutrality between Anthony and herself was
growing more wearing. The girl was observant. And Anthony had
been right, she was a Cardew. She would have fought her grandfather
out on it, defied him, accused him, hated him. And Grace wanted
peace.

Once again as she followed Lily and Mademoiselle up the stairs she
felt the barrier of language, and back of it the Cardew pride and
traditions that somehow cut her off.

But in Lily's rooms she was her sane and cheerful self again.
Inside the doorway the girl was standing, her eyes traveling over
her little domain ecstatically.

"How lovely of you not to change a thing, mother!" she said. "I was
so afraid--I know how you hate my stuff. But I might have known
you wouldn't. All the time I've been away, sleeping in a dormitory,
and taking turns at the bath, I have thought of my own little place."
She wandered around, touching her familiar possessions with caressing
hands. "I've a good notion," she declared, "to go to bed immediately,
just for the pleasure of lying in linen sheets again." Suddenly she