“Just an old-fashioned girl after all,” he said, smiling down at me. “Don’t ever go modern on me, Pat. I’m fed up with it. You’re no more modern than Maud herself.”

“No,” I said, feeling absurdly happy. “I suppose I’m the sort that brushes its teeth at night and says its prayers, and then drops into wholesome slumber. At least I used to. I haven’t slept so well lately.”

He gave me a quick look. “See here, Pat, you’re intelligent and you’re fond of Mother. Have you any idea what’s been wrong with Maud?”

“She’s worrying. I don’t know why.”

“She hasn’t said anything? You haven’t told her about those letters?”

“Certainly not.”

Then we were in the breakfast room, with Thomas and Stevens circling around Reynolds like the rings of Saturn, and Tony grinned at me.

“Now you know how a canary bird feels,” he said. “How about a little seed, Reynolds?”

“Seed, sir?”

“Never mind,” said Tony. “I’m very particular about my seed, Reynolds. Otherwise I can’t sing.”

“I see, sir,” said Reynolds, looking bewildered, and retired to the sideboard.

It was a gay meal, but later in the library Tony was more sober. He told me about the strike at the mill, and about a minority stockholders’ meeting, headed by some of J.C.’s relatives.

“They want control,” he said. “They’ll never get it, but that’s what they are after. They never forgave the old man for leaving the business to Mother.”

Like so many other things this seemed unimportant at the time. What did matter was that Tony was his old self again, and that we were on friendly terms once more. Not that he had been unfriendly, but since Maud’s illness and the attack on Evans I had felt as though I were largely a useful piece of furniture to have about. “Ask Miss Abbott. She’ll know.” Or, “Are you busy, Pat? Do you mind making a call for me?”

I suppose I was foolish, but I trailed up those marble stairs that night with a song in my heart, and no birdseed about it.

It was the next day that Bessie arrived. Maud was downstairs that afternoon, and we were in the main hall when she drove up in a cream-colored sports car. I had been filling some vases in the flower room and I came in to find Maud staring helplessly out through the open door to the drive.

“Dear God,” she said in a half whisper. “It’s Bessie.”

A young woman was getting out of the car and coming up the steps to the terrace. She was an ash-blonde with a long bob, an innocent face, and a pair of the coldest blue eyes I have ever seen. Maud seemed paralyzed. She didn’t even move. And Bessie came up the steps and into the house as if she belonged there. The hall must have been dark after the sunlight outside, for she blinked. Then she saw Maud and gave her a cool little smile.