But in time they see the wisdom of the old order, and return. It
is one of the fruits of war."

Grace hardly heard her.

"Lily," she asked, "you are not in love with this Cameron person,
are you?"

But Lily's easy laugh reassured her.

"No, indeed," she said. "I am not. I shall probably marry beneath
me, as you would call it, but not William Wallace Cameron. For one
thing, he wouldn't have grandfather in his family."

Some time later Mademoiselle tapped at Grace's door, and entered.
Grace was reclining on a chaise longue, towels tucked about her neck
and over her pillows, while Castle, her elderly English maid, was
applying ice in a soft cloth to her face. Grace sat up. The towel,
pinned around her hair like a coif, gave a placid, almost nun-like
appearance to her still lovely face.

"Well?" she demanded. "Go out for a minute, Castle."

Mademoiselle waited until the maid had gone.

"I have spoken to Ellen," she said, her voice cautious. "A young
man who does not care for women, a clerk in a country pharmacy.
What is that, Mrs. Cardew?"

"It would be so dreadful, Mademoiselle. Her grandfather--"