One afternoon, first snow fell, and trees in the parks looked, against white snow, like graceful Japanese ink drawings, of sumi-e style. The sky above Kingsport was a shimmering shade of milky opal. Light grooves had been trodden on the campus square as co-eds ran to their lectures.

The premises of the Department of English Literature were high and vaulted, and the arched windows gave a beautiful panoramic view. Professor Milne, glanced at his students, they were all eagerly discussing given topic, of the day, which was "The Victorian Ideal of the Virtuous Woman, and its Fracture in Nineteenth-Century Prose." Professor, raised his hand, and said in his friendly, slightly weary way, "Well, well. Sounds like there's been quite a lot of arguments for and against. Would anyone like to clarify their position, perhaps Miss Diana Blythe?"

Di Blythe, wiped excess ink from her fountain pen, and fixing her greenish gaze, on Professor, as she said softly but impressively, "I feel the need to point out that even Hardy's shortest stories and novels deal with that question from different perspectives, some with more flair than others. Everyone always remembers Tess, but Hardy's other heroines also deserve recognition, such as, Elfride Swancourt, Sue Bridehead, or Batsheba Everdeen, Elizabeth-Jane, Paula Power, Marty Short, and naturally Eustacia Vye. Likewise, when Anne Brontë's novel Tenant of Wildfell Hall, broke all Victorian norms, as protagonist Helen Graham is an active agent, in everything."

Professor Milne smiled faintly, and replied, "Miss Blythe, interesting that of all the Brontë sisters you chose Anne, usually everyone favors Emily or Charlotte. And that was a quite list of Hardy´s various heroines. Well, everyone, about your last essays. All in all, quite excellent analyses. Until next week, have a good weekend everyone!"

A soft commotion filled paneled lecture hall as students gathered their things and started walking towards wide doors.

When Di Blythe, passed Professor's dais, Milne requested, "Miss Blythe, stay a moment, if you will?"

Di glanced curiously at Professor, who was erasing blackboard, with sweeping strokes, as the quotation examples and little narrative diagrams slowly disappeared. Then Milne leaned back in his chair and said calmly, "Miss Blythe, your last essay on Hardy's work was absolutely stunning. The fact that you had written an analysis of the note structure of one of my favorite Brahms lieds, it only added value to the whole. You are really talented. I do think that maybe in a year or two you should think about publishing a manuscript?"

Di, laughed merrily, a gleaming silvery strand, of a laugh, and said " That Brahms was a complete accident. I had played that piece on the piano with a friend of mine while I was working on that paper. And as for publishing, thank you for the encouragement, that Professor thinks, I may have what it takes." Di Blythe, smiled, in wan way, a pale and glimmerin thing it was, but it still illuminated echoing space, as she went in her way.

Bluish twilight had fallen outside, serene Milne closed the door, and thought about sparkling energy that these young people had. Regardless of the war at the front, and personal losses. They continued to get excited about the structure of novels and poems, and present sharp, and sometimes new perspectives, not always just a dusty repetition of the old, and well-worn. The academic year of Redmond autumn term was on its last legs.

Milne took his pipe from his pocket, and a low curl of smoke wafted through the corridors, as Milne's tweed-clad figure, advanced with weary steps, with bulging leather bag over his shoulder towards faculty lounge.

Di walked thoughtfully, aimlessly, until around a certain corner she saw a person dressed in a familiar blue coat, with a pile of books in her arms, it was Alice. Di exclaimed brightly, " Alice, how were your lectures?"

Alice straightened, as she smiled in a fleeting way, and lightly she brushed aside strands of hair that had come out of her plait, and laid her bag on the floor, at the foot of the Ionic column, and inquired, " My lectures covered fascinating questions of aesthetics and philosophy. How was Milne's lecture? I remember your brother was always in awe of the Professor's lectures."

Di nodded thoughtfully, and said in a quiet voice that was barely above a whisper, "The lecture was good, as always. Milne complimented my essay, and he thinks I might publish something bigger someday, outside of Perennial I mean."

Alice glanced in Di's direction inquisitively, and said softly, "I think your desk drawer might already have something suitable to offer. You've been writing until the wee hours a lot lately. I recived an invitation to tea at Dorothy Gardiner's residence, that's for both of us."

Curiously, Di glanced at the small invitation written on cream-colored paper, with a very fine and elaborate calligraphy. Di said "Dorothy moves in interesting circles. I think we're going to meet a lot of people. It's possible that Dorian is there too. If so, we'd have at least one familiar face there, apart from hostess."

Alice glanced sharply at Di, and said in her calm manner, "Dorian was at the same lecture. He didn't mention anything about the tea party at Dorothy's when we exchanged a few words after the lecture. Now that I think about it, Dorian seemed very thoughtful. The lecture was insightful, but somehow I think Dorian wasn't bothered by ethical questions in Greek and Roman philosophy, but he was clearly bothered about something."

Di said lightly, chuckling, "Well, maybe he is stressed. In addition to coursework we both have Perennial." Di held out her hand. Laughing, Alice glanced in Di's direction, in somewhat saucy manner, and warm rush of fierce gladness warmed Di´s heart at the sight of Alice so, golden and gayly joyful.

Dorian turned his head suddenly as a familiar sparkling, dark laugh, reminiscent of warm cognac, rushed along high corridor. And he watched in a wistful way, as Alice dressed in blue, her arm slowly, carefully, twined with Di´s, as they walked away with hurried steps. They surely were whispering secrets to each other's ears, as girls always , Dorian sat down on a nearby bench, as his legs were aching, as they always were in cold winter months.

Dorian had found it difficult to concentrate at the lecture today. He had barely managed to write notes, because Alice was sitting a couple of benches away. She had been writing furiously, every now and then wrapping one of her slightly curly strands of hair around her finger.

And after lecture, they had discussed main points of the lecture, and their plans for the coming weekend, as they always did. Apparently Alice along with Di, had received an invitation to Auntie Dorothy's for tea, about a week from now. It was a little surprising, but Dorian remembered that sometimes Dorothy had held tea parties.

Aunt Dorothy had visited the Hall, few days ago, full of haste, and full of wim, and her causes, as ever, vibrant with cheer. Dorian had noticed, in the air, a sort of tension, which was very distinct in Adeline's demeanor. Adeline was even more formal than usual, and she did not properly, while they were drinking tea in the drawing-room, glance at Dorothy, but directed her words, either to Roy, or to Dorian himself.

It was almost as if Dorothy was invisible, except that she was sitting in an armchair, next to Dorian, wearing a warm mohair sweater and straight dark trousers, and extremely elegant laced high-heeled boots, and her hair, that elaborate curly mass, twined with a careless bun.

Dorothy, brushing a crumb of cake, off shiny table, with her serviette, poured fresh tea into her cup, and said "There has been no news of further attacks, neither ours nor theirs. The Somme bill is still being counted, I gather. Have you received any further information through your contacts, Royal?"

Royal put his teacup on the table, and taking his usual glass of brandy, tasted it and said quietly, with a slight severe tone. "If I had, why would I tell you, Do-do? So you can go spread the word in your circles, I don't really think so. But in answer to your question. I haven't heard anything, except that quite a number of Canadians fell at the Battle of Ancere. Many families have bleak holiday this year."

Dorothy had glanced at Royal, keenly, and then she had nodded, her cheer muted.

And Adeline had said, "Soiree was nevertheless a success, despite some of the guests, who peeked into rooms, as if they were on a museum visit, as in one of the famous English mansions. Pretty flattering, but annoying, this is our home, not a tourist attraction. It's so hard to maintain a lofty standard these days. I have received cards, from several parties for the success of the arrangements. Wasn't it nice Roy to meet, sweet Christine after all these years. You know, I've never understood why in your Redmond years you didn't court her, but let that nameless country boy do it, Hilbert, who later won the Cooper Prize. What a pity that Christine has no children, only dogs.."

Dorian was so startled by Adeline's cool remark that he spilled hot tea on his plum-colored tie. Dorothy, with a sympathetic twinkle in her eye, glanced at Dorian, and Dorian found himself smiling openly at his aunt.

Afterwards as Dorian escorted Dorothy to her red Bentley, Dorian asked, cautiously, "Auntie, atmosphere was so very strange in the salong today. We are not a warm family by any means, but that was a bit unusual, even by our Gardiner standards."

Dorothy pulled cherry-red cap on her curls, and said in a wistful voice, "Dear Dorian. Things and people are never simple, always try to rember that, if you do, you will succeed in life. And as for Adeline, she resents very much that I brought my friend into Soiree as my guest, and that we were so conspicuous, among the other guests who were on the dance floor. Adeline has always been rigid in her opinions, and in her prejudices. She is quite like our late mother, your paternal grandmother Constance, in that way."

Dorian asked in a tone of genuine surprise, "I know Adeline is the worst kind of snob, with just about every prejudice there is to be had, but somehow I feel you're beside the point, Auntie. I'm not ten anymore, you can speak to me directly if there's something to tell."

Dorothy had looked at Dorian silently, and for a long time, just as if she were trying to imprint his features on her mind, for surety. Then she shook her head, as if to banish errant thought, and said, "My dear, remember that I love you, so much."

Feeling pensive, Dorian had watched as his aunt drove away fiercely, just as if she could not wait to get away.

And, now sitting in Ford as the gleaming car wound its way through the familiar streets of Kingsport, Dorian felt anxious. Earlier he would have written to Walter, but that was impossible now.

And weary and glum Dorian sat in the library, of Gardiner Hall, and watched the silent play of lights on the colored window-panes—that sight comforted, as always. There always had been whispers, but Dorian had learned to close his ears, from a very early age, but now to his astonishment he found he could no longer do that. Whispers had become words, and meanings that could be found on dusty shelves of libraries, if one was careful enough. They cut deep when he thought of those various, sometimes interchangeble words, and shady meanings combined with his cheerful, affectionate aunt.

Though Dorian remembered, and tried to follow Dorothy's advice, in regards to Alice, he felt a little at loss. For that August letter had revealed Alice's humanity. She had written about her life in Lowbridge before coming to Redmond. It had been a quiet life, full of old village gossip, and acrimony between some of the Glen residents, and Lowbridge ones. Filled with curch-errands, and evening servicies, and yearly bake-sales, and choir, of Epsicopalian persuasion, and her crafts. Only now did Dorian properly realize what a struggle Alice had gone through to get permission from her parents, to study for a B.A degree, in the first place. For Lowbrige was not Glen, where Dr. Blythe's children naturally went on to college if they wished, after Queens.

Dorian realized that his enthusiastic offer of courtship had been above all selfish, for it might have seemed to Alice that Dorian was giving her, instructions, and expectations, as Alice's strained mother apparently did.

Dorian felt that the invisible pedestal on which he had held Alice had crumbled down. With a light sigh, Dorian took Alice's now somewhat tattered letter from his pocket. He once more glanced at lines written in a densely fluid handwriting. Something veiled, seemed to shimmer between lines. Queer tension that shone, clearly between, carefully considered words.

At the end of the letter there was a large blot of ink, as if Alice had written something, and changed her mind, and spilled ink over the lines. It was almost length of a entire paragraph. With his brows furrowed Dorian, once again glanced at the stain. It marred the otherwise impeccable letter, as he slowly began to write, sincere, unadorned, pure words from his heart, a very belated and late reply, as sheets slowly filled up. While writing, Dorian made plans, that could easily be changed, to suit new circumtances.

Faith, with her usual forethought, had made a fresh pot of tea, which she handed out of their favorite cups to Alice and Di almost as soon as they had entered to the snug warmth of Primrose Hollow. The tea was heavenly nectar, after freezing outdoor air.

Soon Di went to piano, and after playing a few scales, a sparkling Brahms shone in the living room. Nan found herself glancing grimly over her teacup towards corner, for Alice, it seemed, was standing too close to Di as she turned the notes, but on the other hand, person turning the pages, had to stand relatively close.

And then Faith's lively voice could be heard beside her as she cheerfully inquired, "You know, Nan you've been looking in Alice and Di's direction a lot these past few days, is something on your mind? Talking and sharing worries always helps."

Nan, sighed and said in a low voice no louder than a whisper, "Di has always been strongly attached to various girls since our childhood, mostly with hilarious results. I've never seen her like she is with Alice. Part of the reason is surely the fact that Di feels that Alice is the last piece of our brother that is within her reach, but.. I don't know, I just have an uneasy feeling in my soul. Then there are those notes that Dorian's Aunt Dorothy borrowed, to Alice and Di, how immoral, playing German music, when we fight Germany."A little startled by her outburst, Nan bit her lip, as she fiercly stirred her tea.

Faith glanced inquisitively to the corner where the blonde and red head were close conference together. Faith, laughed, and said gently, "Nan, for a moment you sounded just like Ellen Douglas, for she has been verbally criticizing Rosemary for years for playing German music, under these circumstances. And I answer you, as I have often heard Rosemary reply. All music creates hope. It's wartime, true, but we mustn't be too narrow-minded. And as for Di and Alice, perhaps they are kindred spirits?"

Nan smiled and said, "Faith, do you have something to tell me yourself. You've been writing to Jem more than usual these past few weeks, and you've been putting together his Christmas package ever since early September."

Faith's dainty fingers crept towards her collar, but by force of will, she stopped the movement, and said lightly, "Well, Jem is Jem. I'll write him about my Red Cross work. He teases that I'll soon beat him at the exams if I apply to study medicine, after Redmond.

" At the Soiree, I happened to overhear some men discussing how perhaps in a few years local medical school, here should open its doors to selected women who show interest and enthusiasm for the field. Their argument was that women are natural caregivers, and it is precisely local Red Cross branches and VAD training that contribute to this tendency. War propaganda also does its part, with various posters and leaflets. Not all women are little Florence Nightingales. It would be nice if more doors were open for us as a gender, into fields that have been male-dominated for generations." Nan said fiercely with a small frown.

Faith, grinned, in her vibrant way, as she took a folded leaflet from her pocket with a slight flourish and said, "Look, what I have been carrying in my pocket for past few days." Nan found herself looking at creased VAD booklet.

Faith said, " First I have to graduate, which I'll do next year, as I´m a year above you. I've already written to my Father and Rosemary, and they're hesitant, but they believe in my conviction. I'm already partially doing similar work here, and this would be just one step to be able to really help, some meaningful way. In the last few weeks Kingsport´s VAD campaigning has only intensified. Several girls from my year are also interested in joining. "

Red specks glistened on Faith's cheeks, and at that moment Nan realized anew how sincerely original and glowingly beautiful Faith was, full of fierce energy, "A Rose-Red,"as Norman Douglas had named Faith years ago.

As November turned to December snow continued to fall, and world was transformed, into white paradise, of reddish sunsets, and sparkling fields of snow. Snapping frost embroidered gleaming frost roses on the windows of Primrose Hollow.

One evening Nan knocked on Alice's door, and soon her twin answered, sounding a little breathless, "Door is open." Nan entered Alice's room for the first time. The room smelled softly of something spicy, and a bit of honey. Nan glanced around with interest, the room was decorated very conventionally, and there weren't nearly as many crafts on display as she had assumed.

Di sat in the middle of Alice's bed. The bedspread was extremely beautifully hand-knitted, but it seemed to be wrinkled, as if it had been quickly straightened. Alice was sitting at her desk. She looked calm and attentive, as she said "Nan, is there anything in particular that I can help you with? Or did you happen to need Di?"

Nan said "I just came to ask, if I could borrow of your crafting basket, the one with the silk threads?" Di and Alice exchanged a long look, and something almost like amusement flashed across Alice's face.

Seeing that wordless exchange of glances, Nan exclaimed frantically, " I'm making Jerry a Christmas present, and the silk threads are part of it." Alice nodded in her sweet way and said softly, "Of course you do, no doubt about it. If you'll allow a little advice. I think the olive green silk thread would go well with Jerry's colors, as he is darkhaired, if I remember correctly? And I hope you don't mind if my craftbasket isn't in its usual neat appearance at the moment. It can be found in the living room. Feel free to take what you need from there, but be beware of larger craft scissors, they are very sharp."

Nan nodded, and as she turned and closed the door behind her, she faintly heard Di begin to read Hardy aloud

The snow feathers sail

Across the harp-strings,

Whose throbbing threads wail

Like love-satiated things.

And slowly Nan descended downstairs. Sure enough, Alice's craft basket, almost full to the brim, was downstairs, near the worn armchair. Nan carefully examined contents of the basket. Pieces of ribbon, fine pieces of muslin and linen, embroidery scissors, knitting needles. And then a familiar handwriting caught Nan's attention. Folded in the pincushion was one of Walter's letters.

Seeing it, Nan's heart ached. Almost automatically Nan's narrow fingers separated and selected the silk threads. Suddenly Nan realized that she hadn't really had a proper conversation with Walter in years. She had given advice, if asked, and teased, and they had talked happily of literature.

With soft fingers Nan felt the letter on the pincushion, wanting to touch something real that her brother had produced, though it was someone else's property. The letter had clearly been read many times, as the sharp folds had worn away, but the ink was still relatively clear as she quickly glanced at her late brother's frayed handwriting.

"Sitting alone in the moonlight, and the light of the rays bleaches your hair to golden white, in Rainbow Valley. Gardiner greenhouses, all of the various improbable shades of cultivated flowers, that are so, far away from blooming violets, and bluebells that grow on the banks of Lowbridge Episcopalian Cemetery. Passage of time is inexorable, and in the end, we humans are just grains of sand in a great hourglass."

Slowly silent tears began to fall from her eyes, for suddenly she missed her brother, missed him madly. The sadness of the loss shook her, into her hearts core.

A little nervously, Di Blythe and Alice Parker glanced at row of red brick Victorian houses in front of them. The girls' breath steamed in the cold air. Then Alice said,"I think that's the right house. Do you see those rose bushes, for there are roses of the same variety in the Hall too." Di glanced at Alice with some amusement, and playfully declared, "I just see a bunch of squiggly plants, quality of which I can't identify. I always forget that botany is one of your hobbies. So if you claim they are roses, I will defer on your judgment on this matter, then." In unison, Di and Alice walked to the shiny oak door, where a bronze griffin knocker awaited. Di, tapped it three times.

Soon door opened, and Dorothy Gardiner smiled upon them, beaming, as she said cheerfully, "Welcome, my dears. The others are already in the drawing-room. Make yourself at home."

Curious, Alice and Di stepped over the threshold. The air was filled with the delicious, light scent of well baked fresh spice cake. The ceiling was high, and the small dresser was full of miscellaneous stuff: pins, elaborate ribbons, buttons, and one large-sized hat, with a veil. And decorative coatrack was full of dark, red and greenish coats, and a real mess of walking shoes, and heels, spilled onto the floor. There was a beautiful shimmering Venetian-style mirror on the wall, which created the optical illusion of a larger space.

Slowly, Di and Alice entered the salon, which was decorated sensually, but at the same time cleanly, without unnecessary clutter, but there were few curios here and there. The room was bathed in a warm hazy light, and the silk of the large burgundy empire divan glowed, almost blood red, and graceful chairs were strewn carelessly around the room.

Few attendees looked up from their cake plates when Alice and Di walked across the room to the vacant chairs. Then Dorothy arrived carrying a gramophone, and she placed it on a small chair in a sheltered corner with a handsome fern in a dark blue pot of japoniserie style.

On small table was a large tray of worked silver, and a large tea set, and cake plates, and that spice cake, its soft, subtle scent had already been felt at the door.

Dorothy raised her own tea glass, and she smiled softly, and said cheerfully, "My dears, my dears. At last we meet after many months. Enjoy your refreshments, and barcabinet is open, you all know where it is. There will be lively conversation as always, and music, but first, I'd like to introduce two new my acquaintances, of mine who just got here. They're both Redmond students, Diana Blythe and Alice Parker. "

In the crossfire of curious but friendly eyes, Di nodded and smiled, in her vivacious manner. A tall woman, who had powerful features and an extremely stylish pearl gray two-piece suit, glanced at them and she slowly nodded.

She vaguely resembled Ellen Douglas, Di's mind, but Ellen would not in the world agree to wear such clothes, not even in the most extreme need. She raised her teacup, in smooth little salute, and said in a humming sort of tone, that was like herd of small bumblebees,"Dottie, haven't been inviting any new faces here for what feels like aeons. Welcome, to both of you. I can almost vow that you will enjoy this little gathering."

The tea was excellent, it even beat Susan's tea. Susan always thought she made the best pot of tea in the whole Glen, and often she did. But the taste of the tea leaves was sophisticated, lingeringly dark, and Christmas-like, with a slight hint of cinnamon and a little orange flavor, which was easily explained, because there were tiny dried orange pieces floating in the teacup.

Di noticed that Alice was stirring her own tea, in a slightly pensive mood, and she looked inquisitively around the room, Di was not surprised at that, because there was something to see in the drawing room. Near them, on a small table, there was an extremely refined lamp, of Art Deco-style, the same style Di had glimpsed in Gardiner Hall, but this lamp, a female figure, was almost openly sensual.

The air echoed with a light, hum of serious conversation. Then a woman with short, cropped hair, and glasses, rose from her chair, and declared, "I am not saying that Julia Grace Wales was not right when she wrote only last year Continuous Meditation Without Armistice. The proposal in question is both excellent and thought-provoking, as many of you know. Now I suggest that we honor lovely Ethel Smythe by singing her world famous composition of The March of the Women. The lyrics are by hand of author and surfragette Cicely Hamilton. The short-haired woman's fierce speech received small applause.

Enthusiastic choral singing, half in canon, momentarily echoed from that corner of the salong. The tune was catchy and Alice made a mental observation, try to find more of Smythe's compositions, on the principle that women composers should be supported. And then Alice, narrowed her eyes and said, in a low voice, "Di, I think there might be one of my acquaintances over there in the corner examining the bookcase, but I'm not quite sure."

Curious, Di glanced in the direction Alice had indicated and she saw, dark-haired, slightly old-maid-like woman, who was dressed in a nondescript dress of muted shade of chocolate brown. And then the woman looked up, and noticed them, and a very pure smile lit up that face, which was otherwise very ordinary. Soon she was near them, as she had dragged her own chair, near. She and said in a very kind voice, with a slight no-nonsense tone, "Alice, how lovely to see you, also somewhere other than my library. This girl by your side must be beautiful Walter's sister, for those eyes cannot be forgotten, they are the same mold, even if the color is greenish-gray, instead of pure glimmering gray. Perhaps you are Di, for your brother sometimes mentioned you, while he and Alice here studied their various lessons."

Di, startled, and a slight shiver shook her, and in a weak voice, she whispered, "So you knew my brother?" With a sad smile on her features, Alice turned to Di and said in her appealing way, "Di, may I introduce Madeline Dobson. She's librarian, at Redmond Musical Society. She often gives me tips, about good books, and notes of music."

Madeleine looked at Di from head to toe somewhat bird-like manner, and nodded sadly, and said "He was a special soul, who however, sometimes had rather over-emphasized romantic gestures, and sometimes he brooded at lot. But he wrote his essays and other works, in in a most charming way and he played any piano like an angel a Blakean one, I always thought. "

Di smiled with slightly quivering lips and said quietly " I'd love to visit that library. I've been meaning to go there before, as I know my brother loved that place."

Madeline Dobson, glanced searchingly at Di Blythe, whose graceful features had a light red flush. She noted that Miss Blythe, was quite pale under that flush, so Madeline Dobson, said more gently than was her usual habit, "the bookcase here is magnificent in its own right, there are, among other things, several issues of the British magazine Shaft, which are not even in my library's collections. And then there is a considerable amount of French poetry, and some prose, all typical works, but, also a few surprises."

A little amused, Madeline Dobson noticed that girls shared a long look, and then Di slipped off to peruse the bookshelves. Alice smiled a little mischievously and said "Di just wants to see if there happen to be a certain piece on Dorothy's shelf. I'd bet there probably isn't, but of course I could be wrong."

And suddenly Di came back with a marble papered hardcover book in her hand, as she carefully turned pages, and said "Alice, look." Curious, Alice glanced at the page of first chapter on it which Chopin's Op.44 sheet music was printed.

Di said in a genuinely excited voice, "Unbelievably, she has also written prose, not only poetry. It seems that every chapter in this novel has different classical piano piece its centre. How incredibly wonderful. And this is a signed work!"

Madeline said calmly, " Gardiners have been visiting France for years, especially Paris, so I wouldn't be at all surprised if there might be autographs from slightly more modern authors, in some of the volumes, if the book is Dorothy's."

Di gently touched the soft leather spine of the book, the title was Une femme m'apparut, with care and put the book in its place in the shelf. Dorothy came up next to Di, and she glanced at the shelf, and said slowly, "I noticed you seemed to be interested in that book. It's a beautiful and somewhat melancholy work, so if you want to borrow it, please do." Di walked back to her tea with the book under her arm.

Dorothy waved her hand and Ernie came to the shelfs, her striped skirts rustling, she said, with a drawling arresting, satiny smooth cadence, in her tone, "So we're corrupting the youth these days?

" Dorothy looked at Alice, who was conversing in a low voice with Madeline, as she quietly replied, "No, it's more about expanding horizons and opening new paths." A light ironic smile on her reddened lips, and a light wicked sparkle in her eye, Ernestine replied, glancing at the salon, "Quite a broad horizon, then. Fortunately, most of the yellow anonymous publications are in the other room, under lock and key, not that it matters much, with this crowd of ours. "

Hours flowed together, in the salong. There were laughter, and slowly dwindling cake. Champagne glasses sparkled in the partial shade, and the calmly serious atmosphere of the afternoon began to evolve, into something else. Dorothy, slowly lit the candles in the large candelabras – Alice noted that all candels were lavender in shade.

The needle of gramophone was ticking, and slowly music, floated gently onwards, then one by one the women in the room began to dance, in pairs. Gramophone played a rousing waltz as, sheltered by double velvet and lace curtains, dark figures mingled and froliced. And on the other side of the salon, Dorothy and Ernestine raised their glasses of champagne, and smiled openly at each other, seeing their guests enjoying themselves.

Alice glanced at Di from the corner of her eye, and nodded, lightly towards the small impromptu dance floor. But Di, sat still, motionless, and seemed to be completely engrossed in her book.

Then the clock struck ten in the evening. Both Primrose Hollow girls received a whole host of hugs and lingering kisses on the cheek from Dorothy's and Ernestines acquaintances. And Madeline gave Alice a warm embrace, as she said "Have a safe trip home, both of you!"

At Primrose Hollow flickering candlelight reflected shadows on the walls.

And slowly, carefully Di locked the door to Alice's room.

Di took a deep breath, and with only slightly trembling fingers, she touched Alice's fingers.

Little later, Di felt beneath her hands, soft sliding silk, and the weight of Alice's scented hair...