THE DAYS went by as they always did in Maine. Lilian took a walk in the morning, had lunch with her mother and Arthur and a guest, then took another walk. Other activities included putting stuff in her hair, reading, shining her fingernails, and writing letters. Some days, they drove out with the cousins to Crabtree Point and stared at the hills across the Bay. One day they were fetched by Mrs. Bradley Parish’s boat to look at an old house. It had three gardens and, they were told, a man’s ghost inhabiting the gazebo. As they strolled down the bright paths, past the delphinium and the zinnias, Lilian had the feeling that he was nearby, she had an affinity for ghosts, and thought if she turned around, she’d see him so she did not turn around.

Another day, they returned from walking around Pierce’s Pond to find the house reeking of garlic and the drinking water tinged with gin. Arthur said it was charming, if unusual. Aunt Tizzy had just arrived with her pyramid of luggage and in the morning they read the papers and were filled up with scandals among the best and most highly placed families. There were reading evenings and visits to the library by way of entertainment. For Aunt Tizzy’s benefit, Lilian said she felt like the little poor girl living opposite the rich girl — watching Mrs. Amory’s motor draw up in front of the Amorys’ door every day to take her to lunch — though in truth, Lilian was thankful not to go out and meet anyone. Tommy Lattimore came nearly every day. He sat with her on the piazza with his long face, rearranging the large knuckles of his hand. He never spoke of his feelings for Lilian about which she was glad, having only a friendly regard for him. He was content to watch the comings and goings of the house, the cousins on the lawn, the gathering of raspberries, for there was not much activity at the Lattimores’ house. Richard had been the most lively one there.

People were trying to forget about the war and to look forward. Some boys were still trickling home. Hardly any of the Island boys had come back — they’d all enlisted in the same regiments which had seen terrible casualties. Lilian had written Mrs. Cooper a note, saying how sorry she was about Forrey, and gave some money to the memorial fountain they were planning in the village center. Mrs. Cooper wrote back thank-you in a chicken scrawl and when they saw each other face to face on Main Street during the mail hour, they only smiled at each other and did not speak, having nothing more to say.