"Lilly," he burst out, "drop it all for a couple of weeks. You and the youngster come out to the place in Tarrytown. There are some things I want to talk over with you. I'm working now to obtain the rights to that little beauty from the Spanish you gave me to read. I'm going to produce after this war mess slows down. It is the exquisite kind of thing I'd expect you to find." "I didn't. Zoe read it to me one evening. She was the one to see its possibilities." "It's spring, Lilly, and I want you to see the place. My sister Pauline moved in last week. I want you to be our first guest. It's spring, Lilly--" It was his first mention to her of the recent purchase of a one-hundred-acre estate at Tarrytown, although in her capacity of notary public she had officiated at the drawing up of certain papers and deed. Blue prints of plans had passed through her hands. That he had furnished it she knew, too, from the magnitude of breath-taking bills from decorators and dealers exclusive antique. It had piqued her more than she would admit, his failure to solicit even her advice or opinion. There was a framed photograph of plans on his desk in the office which her eyes studiously avoided. Furtively and with the edge of her gaze, she knew the house to be a low-length with Tudor peaks to it that gave her a nostalgia for pools of green quiet and the leafy whisperings of English countrysides she had never seen. "I want you out at the place, Lilly, more than I can say. Please come. The way things are clouding up, there is no telling how soon they'll let me over for active service. Lilly?" She shook her head. "I can't. Zoe graduates next month, and--" "Good Lord! the youngster!" "Seventeen." He whistled. "Well, I'll be hanged. The sun-kid. Bring her out too, Lilly." "Trieste is very strict with her. She is preparing for her audition in September, and even if it could be managed, there is poor Mrs. Schum, you know." His eagerness would not endure obstacle. "Bring her out, too. How's that, Lilly? I'll send a limousine full of pillows for her. It will take Pauline's mind off her loneliness, having some one to mother. We'll put her up in a sun room with a view of pine woods and Hudson River that cannot be surpassed. It's spring--Lilly--" "Poor Mrs. Schum!" she replied, her smile tired and twisted. "I'm afraid her next journey will be a longer one than that." "Poor soul! Does she still think that boy of hers is fighting?" "Surely there is no wrong in saving her from the horror of the truth." "You dear girl, of course, no. It's only that--somehow don't you think that before she passed on she ought to know that he's gone on before--even if you have to tell her that he died--gloriously?" "I've thought of that," she said, looking away, "thought and thought of it." "Lilly," he cried, reaching for her two hands She drew them back quickly and walked out.