"She is sorry for Aunt Elinor."

"Because her baby's gone to God? She ought to be glad, oughtn't
she?"

"Not that;" said Grace, and had brought a box of chocolates and
given her one, although they were not permitted save one after each
meal.

Then Lily had gone away to school. How carefully the school had
been selected! When she came back, however, there had been no more
questions, and Grace had sighed with relief. That bad time was over,
anyhow. But Lily was rather difficult those days. She seemed, in
some vague way, resentful. Her mother found her, now and then, in
a frowning, half-defiant mood. And once, when Mademoiselle had
ventured some jesting remark about young Alston Denslow, she was
stupefied to see the girl march out of the room, her chin high, not
to be seen again for hours.

Grace's mind was sub-consciously remembering those things even when
she spoke.

"I didn't know you were having to learn about that side of life,"
she said, after a brief silence.

"That side of life is life, mother," Lily said gravely. But Grace
did not reply to that. It was characteristic of her to follow her
own line of thought.

"I wish you wouldn't tell your grandfather. You know he feels