Blanche knew that Lynn was watching her, that her eyes hadn't left her once during the drive back home. But she refused to look at the girl just yet, focusing her gaze on the passing cars and department stores instead. She hadn't said more than two words to Lynn since seeing Jane—she couldn't find a way to explain how she was feeling to the young woman. Actually, she wasn't sure if she could even comprehend it herself.

She had certainly been very pleased with Jane's progress. In spite of everything she had heard beforehand about these kind of places, Jane had looked undeniably healthy and content at the sanatorium. Blanche had regretted giving in to the ultimatum of either having to place her sister there or letting the police at her, both at first and sometimes even after her first meeting with Dr. Brown all these months ago. She had thought if she hadn't been in such a weakened state at the hospital, she'd have been able to conjure up some sort of a plan to keep Jane away from the asylum that the doctors insisted on referring to by a kinder name. Now, however, she was convinced that she had ended up making the best decision for Jane.

Blanche knew she had given Jane false hope. Although the doctor was positive that Jane was, in all probability, on the road to an incredibly speedy recovery, Blanche had never heard of someone being completely cured from something as serious as Jane's unfortunate condition. And if that weren't enough, there was a certain headstrong blonde currently sitting next to her, who would not stand for the idea of having Jane live in Blanche's house. It had been cruel of Blanche to encourage her sister's fantasy of leaving the sanatorium any time soon, but Blanche had simply found it impossible to tell her the truth. Jane had been so happy, and Blanche supposed she had transferred some of that happiness over to her younger sister as well, because there was an absent smile on Blanche's lips that hadn't left her ever since she had left the sanatorium sitting room.

Blanche was pulled out of her musings when her eyes registered the inviting facade of her house and a familiar figure standing by the door. When the taxi stopped, the driver and Lynn set about to retrieve her wheel chair from the trunk, and Blanche called out of the open car door, "Bill! What are you doing here?"

The actor turned and headed down the footpath to the street with a broad smile on his face. "Can't I call on my friends when I feel like it?"

"You were just here a few days ago," Lynn replied fondly, handing the driver his pay. "Who knew you couldn't stand being apart from Miss Blanche for such a short time."

Bill laughed and wordlessly took Lynn's place next to the wheel chair. "Well, you're not wrong, kid," he admitted, bowing closer to Blanche with a conspiratorial smirk, "but that's not all I've come for." Somehow Blanche managed to accept Bill's help in lifting her into her chair and to fix him with a relatively calm inquisitive look at the same time. "I've got an invitation for you," he explained, steering the woman towards the house, "and since I'm aware of how evasive you can be, I decided to come and talk to you in person."

Lynn opened the door for them and with a shadow of grave worry in her eyes, mentioned, "Just keep in mind that this is not a good day for anything upsetting." Upon Bill's curious grimace, she added thinly, "We've just returned from Miss Jane's sanatorium." She paused as a momentary hush settled over the three of them, and then declared, "I'll make us all some tea."

Blanche bit her lip in sad frustration. She hadn't meant to insult Lynn by not sharing her experience with her, but the girl's curtness indicated that she had managed to do just that. Blanche promised herself she would talk to her about it as soon as they found themselves alone again. Despite how close Bill was to her, she had no intention of sharing this matter with him. And so when Bill asked her about Jane, she answered his curious question with a vague, "She was just fine."

"I won't keep you long," Bill promised after sipping his tea and refusing Lynn's generous offer of biscuits with the excuse of his agent scolding him for letting himself go. "Now, I told you about the movie I've just finished. Well, Friday night we're going to have a small premiere celebration, and I wanted to invite the both of you."

"Oh, no, Bill," Blanche was quick to dismiss his idea although Lynn's face had already lit up with hopeful excitement. "It must be a private party; I don't think we would be welcome. And I can't show my face in public just yet. People have not been kind to me." She shook her head, dejected. "You didn't see the way that taxi driver looked at me when he picked us up."

Bill leaned closer to her across the table with a compassionate gleam in his kind eyes. "You're mistaken, Blanche," he said warmly. "You would be more than welcome. And it's just a small party—a few dozen cast and crew members, that's all."

"And the press," Blanche mentioned mistrustfully.

"Well, naturally, they'll be there," the actor admitted, looking towards Lynn for support. "But it will do you good to meet people. I believe you yourself told me that you missed the business. And you can't spend the rest of your life cooped up in here."

Unmoved, Blanche was about to protest again when Lynn cut her off by declaring that the party sounded like a marvellous idea.

Redoing the same stitch in her knitting for the fifth time, Blanche glanced over to her maid washing the dishes in the kitchen. Usually she would hum or talk to Blanche during that task; today, however, she was emphatically silent. When her needles betrayed her again, Blanche sighed with frustration and dropped the knitting into her lap. "Lynn, darling," she called, and instantly the girl turned to face her, as if she had been waiting for Blanche to address her. The latter beckoned the young woman closer, saying in a tone of contrite apology, "I'm sorry I've been so short with you today. I've just had so much on my mind."

Within an incredibly brief moment Lynn's expression softened, and she dashed towards Blanche with a blissfully relieved smile. "Oh, Miss Blanche, I know that," she replied eagerly, dropping into the armchair opposite of the older woman. "I'm not vexed. Honestly, I'm not," the words came pouring out after she had been holding them to herself for the whole afternoon. "I just felt so terrible about you having to see Miss Jane on your own. But you were so strong about it, and I felt so silly for worrying so much. And I didn't want to ask you about her because-"

Blanche caught one of her hands in hers to distract Lynn from her rambling. The girl blushed bright red when she caught the look in Blanche's smiling eyes. "Thank you," Blanche said softly, "for caring so much." Convinced that the girl would not talk her head off if she did so, Blanche released her hand and leaned back in her chair.

She had been searching all afternoon for the right words to describe her feelings towards Jane, but such words didn't seem to exist. So instead she settled for a simpler explanation. "Jane was," she confided, "completely different. Nothing like she was six months ago." She thought back to the blissful childlike smile and the optimistic bright spark in her sister's large eyes. "I think she's happier now." An unfamiliar cold remorse clutched suddenly at her heart, and she felt the need to add, "Without me."

Lynn watched her in wordless wonder for a breathless moment, although she couldn't possibly have known about the mental images Blanche had long ago banished to the farthest reaches of her memory and which she now had involuntarily allowed back into her mind's eye—images that reminded her that she alone was to blame for what had become of Jane. No, the young woman sitting there with her now didn't know about that fateful night. Instead, she sprung forward and declared with passionate conviction, "You can't think that, Miss Blanche!" Blanche looked up at her, swallowing her infuriatingly insistent tears. "I don't know much about Jane Hudson, but I am certain you are the best thing in her life."

Blanche checked herself critically in her vanity mirror. She wasn't sure if hair was even still worn in high society the way she'd done up hers, or if her dress wasn't too brash for the occasion. She caught a movement in the corner of the mirror and muttered to the girl stepping into the room in one of her own gowns, "I don't know how you managed to talk me into going."

Lynn skipped over the room to her, placed her hands on the older woman's shoulders and looked at the two of them in the mirror, a shamelessly excited grin on her lips. "You shouldn't frown like that," she pointed out. "Makes you look twenty years older than you are."

Blanche willed the corners of her mouth to curve upward, taking heed of the girl's comment.

"That's better," Lynn beamed at their shared reflection. "My, you look beautiful, Miss Blanche! It'll be just like that time we went to the theatre—Bill won't be able to take his eyes off you." She giggled when Blanche averted her eyes. "And don't you worry about a thing," she added in a gentler tone, squeezing her employer's shoulder. "I won't leave your side for a minute. You're going to have a good time if I have to drag the reporters away by their ears."