Lily laughed out at that.

"You darling!" she said. "You know perfectly well that I am nothing
in grandfather's young life, but the Cardew women all have what he
likes to call savoir faire. What would they do, father and
grandfather, if you didn't go through life smoothing things for them?"

Grace looked rather stiffly ahead. This young daughter of hers,
with her directness and her smiling ignoring of the small subterfuges
of life, rather frightened her. The terrible honesty of youth! All
these years of ironing the wrinkles out of life, of smoothing the
difficulties between old Anthony and Howard, and now a third
generation to contend with. A pitilessly frank and unconsciously
cruel generation. She turned and eyed Lily uneasily.

"You look tired," she said, "and you need attention. I wish you had
let me send Castle to you."

But she thought that lily was even lovelier than she had remembered
her. Lovely rather than beautiful, perhaps. Her face was less
childish than when she had gone away; there was, in certain of her
expressions, an almost alarming maturity. But perhaps that was
fatigue.

"I couldn't have had Castle, mother. I didn't need anything. I've
been very happy, really, and very busy."

"You have been very vague lately about your work."

Lily faced her mother squarely.