Primrose Hollow was quiet, wall clock in the living room was ticking softly. Di somewhat aggressively threw crossed-out paper into the almost full basket. Nan, glanced at her twin, over her letter, and said lightly, "Run out of inspiration?"

Di, shook her head, and muttered, "I'm trying to answer Mumsy's letter, but I find I can't."

Nan, said in her particulary blithe way, " The right words will come to you sooner or later I'm sure. Where's Alice?. Do you want to play cards, before going to bed, though Susan thinks it's sin?"

Di, glanced around at the living room. Alice's craft basket was in the corner, and the muslins were spilling out, and there was a half-finished work in the embroidery hoop, a view of Rainbow Valley in winter, if Di hadn't guessed wrong.

Di replied to Nan, "Usually she's already back by this time, but yes, let´s play." Nan, split deck in half, as they played a few hands of Solitaire. Afterwhile Nan remarked, "If she was here we could have played Quadrille or Papillion."

Di, laughed, and said in a teasing tone, "You just want to lord over your competence of old card-games, that you have pieced from your reading, do you not?"

Nan's hazel eyes twinkled, as she replied, " When the present is uncertain, as it is today, it is sometimes comforting to immerse myself in various novels. Last week I happened to read Fanny Burney's work, for someone had at last returned The Wanderer to the Redmond Library, and it is better than Dickens' Tale of two Cities, even though it's also about the French Revolution."

Di, laid down the Queen of Hearts card, and said thoughtfully, "Well, that explains why you want to try the French-style card game variations."

Nan, smiled in slight wan way, as she quoted in a low voice, a strand of Blake.

For Mercy has a human heart,

Pity a human face,

And Love, the human form divine,

And Peace, the human dress.

Then she continued, " By chance, in Jerry's recent letters he has written a great deal about Blake, especially about Blake's various prophecies, and I have had to re-read his work, for as you may remember Blake has never been the closest of poets to me, I adore Tennyson more. It is extremely comforting that Jerry apparently is able to process his experiences through Blake's poetry. Una has sent him a small book with Blake's collections, the volume in question is so small that it fits in the pocket of his khaki uniform, along with his Bible, naturally."

Di, chuckled gently, and said, "Of course, because isn't this verse just like Una to teeth.

Memory, hither come,

And tune your merry notes;

And, while upon the wind,

Your music floats,

I'll pore upon the stream,

Where sighing lovers dream,

And fish for fancies as they pass

Within the Watery glass

I'll drink of the clear stream,

And hear the linnet's song;

And there I'll lie and dream

The day along:

And, when night comes,

I'll go

To places fit for woe,

Walking along the darkened valley,

With silent Melancholy.

Nan, furrowed her brow, and said, "Just like Rainbow Valley, how funny, and almost too fitting, for didn't our brother love Blake almost above all else?" Di, nodded. And silently twins glanced at each other, and for a little moment they each thought back to the days in Rainbow Valley, when Walter had sat under the arching birch, in the deep shimmering green grass, and read this same poem in his sonorous voice.

But no matter how hard Di listened, there were no creak of front door, no familiar, light steps walking upward to staircase, and not before too long Nan's calm breathing, near her, lulled her to sleep as well.

Next morning, light scent of fresh rolls were wafting from Primrose Hollow kitchen. Excited, Di ran to the kitchen, and as she passed by, she noticed that a large white box was placed on the sofa in the living room, with red ribbons on it.

Mischievously Di pointed out, "Is that mysterious box the reason you were away last night? I waited for you, but finally I fell asleep, next to Nan. Were your lesson successful, or what ever she makes you do there?"

Alice seemed startled as she turned, Di noticed that she was still wearing the same clothes as the day before, a light purple cotton dress with light embroidery across the bodice. Alice, looked in Di's direction and said, in calm way. "Yes. Do you help me with those plates, as I can´t reach for them."

Di shook her head, a little irritably, at her own suspicion, for before long she would find out the contents of the box, all that was needed was patience, as she took four plates from upper cabinet, they were illustrated with roses and red clover flowers.

Di, frowned, as Alice rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, looking for teapots, the light and expensive scent of rose water seemed to mix with the smell of fresh bread in the kitchen, it twined with malty assam.

After breakfast, the residents of Primrose Hollow dispersed, each to their own errands. Nan to write letters to Jerry and Faith, and visit the Red Cross office, Di to the Perennial offices, and Alice headed to the Redmond Musical Society Library.

In the silence of the library reading rooms, Alice sat down in her usual place, and closed her eyes as she remembered the previous evening. Christine's hotel suite had glistened in the soft moonlight streaming through the window curtains as Alice had barely forced herself to focus first on Duprac and then on Delius again in quick succession, but it had been extremely difficult as she still felt Christine's soft kiss on her cheek like a burning brand, until Christine had nodded, and said, in her noble style, "Well, that's enough. There's no use running you all ragged. It's best you stay here for the night, or what's left of it."

Alice, had startled at those words, and Christine had an ambiguous smile on her lips, as she had remarked "You should see your face. You know where the guest room is, so I suggest you take advantage of it, and make yourself at home." Christine had half turned her back to Alice, and was writing something on a piece of paper. She had been humming softly of Delius's A song of setting Sun.

After a while, Alice was standing in the doorway of an anonymous room with a pile of sheet music folders on the table, and for a moment she wondered if perhaps Christine had planned this, as her note had shown a late arrival time, but then, Alice shook her head, because of course such a calculation would be exaggerated. The wallpaper in the room was a bluish silver shaded tone, and curiously, Alice walked over to the large walnut wardrobe and opened the slightly creaking door. There was a familiar white large box, its red bows glittering in the light, and on the little sandalwood-scented shelves were two pairs of nightgowns trimmed with eyelet-lace, and silk-ribbons, along with chemises with beautiful embroidery.

Soft footsteps were heard, nearby, as Alice, spun around, and saw Christine's figure reflected in the large mirror, just a glimpse of midnight blue and white silk, and a clearly amused voice inquired, "I usually drink cocoa when I can't sleep, would you like to join me?"

Alice, glanced at the half-open wardrobe and asked curtly, "Did you plan this, because why else would there be these items of clothing in this closet?"

An amused dark chuckle echoed and Christine replied, "Closets come in many forms, as do preconceptions, but in this case, those clothes are just clothes. I promise they won't have moth holes in them."

There was a light rustle of silk, as Christine was gone from the doorway. Feeling mollified, Alice glanced at the shelf one more time, and sat on the edge of the bed as the slow tingling tension slowly began to fade from her shoulders.

Christine Stuart Dawson, looked up from Andrew's latest letter as Alice sat down on the peach divan, and said, "You said there was hot cocoa, somewhere?" Christine, smiled, and held out the small semi-circular cups, on a silver tray that also held a small decanter.

The cocoa was dark, and strong, and velvety smooth, and Alice noticed that there was some spice in it that she didn't know. Christine, reached out to a nearby table and opened a light cinnamon colored novel and began to read aloud. Time flowed, as bit by bit, carafe emptied as Alice listened to the central machinations of Valmont and Marquise de Meretuil, characters in De Lacos' outrageously amoral and erotic epistolary novel.

Finally, Alice, remarked, "Why this work. It's just manipulation and scheming, the characters playing chess with other people with absolute brutality." Christine, put novel on the table, and said lightly, "But that's what influence and power over others is, haven't you noticed it yet? As for this novel, it has always cheered up an acquaintance of mine before, but apparently not anymore, that's why it was on display." Alice, barely stifled a small yawn, as the clock on the table jingled, in resonant tones. Then Christine, said, "Come on, you'll soon be asleep in your seat, I can't allow that."

The cool, soft sheets smelled of rosemary, and a little bit of lemon, as Alice rolled in them, restless, her whole body tingling as the scenes from the novel haunted her, as did the knowing look that had lingered in Christine´s eyes.

The pale peach clouds glowed a pale salmon red tint, when Alice awoke to find Christine standing by her bed, and with a bejeweled cool hand, she had fixed faded chemise strap with silk ribbon and the barest touch of valencienne lace, in it, on Alice´s shoulder, as she did so, Christine remarked, "Breakfast is coming soon." as she lightly embraced Alice, and she found herself sinking into a rose-scented cloud, and light elusive scent of powder, as Christine had pressed another continental kiss to her cheek, Alice found herself holding her breath, when slowly liminal sweetness, spread to her stomach, a slight heaving, as if stepping over a creaking step.

Tea, of course, had been brewed to perfection, as Alice noted, as she was soon sitting in the parlor in her day dress, with a white box by her side. Alice noticed Christine looking up from her teacup and her correspondence, and saying with an amused calm, "Well, run along now, dearest. I´m sure that you´ll have your little errands to do. I´ll promise that we will meet again, in most elaborate cirumstances. Do not forget that dress-box, as it is going to be quite useful not before too long. "

After arriving in the quiet peace of Primrose Hollow, Alice had felt so unsettled that she had to bake bread, for almost nothing in the world was as soothing as kneading dough, but it had not helped, not at all. And now, in the peace of the library, after for some contenplation, Alice realized that perhaps she needed tea, so she went in search of Madeleine.

Madeleine was found talking in a low voice, in the foyer with a customer, "Mr. Roberts, your loans have been overdue for several weeks, so you can't borrow any more until you get things right." A dry thin man resembling a starving stork, frowned, and said, "I'm sure that's a misunderstanding, I always make all my payments on time, it's a matter of honor."

Alice noticed how, in spite of her hazy blue dress, Madeline looked for a moment like a petulant sparrow, as she fixed her dark eyes on the customer, and took a folded list from her pocket, which she handed to the big-eared man, who was reading the list silently, grayish dry lips moving, on yellowing teeth, like horses had done so, in the pastures of the Glen. Finally, the customer blurted out, "But these are by no means my loans, Miss Dobson."

Madeleine had a steely glint in her eyes as she said, "I don't make mistakes with customer lists Sir. They are your loans, I suggest you return volumes as soon as possible as they have already been requested by others."

Mr Roberts turned angrily on his heel and said pompously, "This library is not at all as upscale as I remembered. I may be taking my patronage elsewhere, dear Miss, what do you say to that?" Madeleine had already disappeared into the silence of the library´s wide corridors, and Mr. Roberts' words echoed lightly before they were drowned out by the heavy banging of the front door.

Alice knocked on Madeline's office door and said cheerfully, "I think you just had a difficult client. Does this happen often?"

Madeline slipped a set of forms into a dresser drawer, as she said, " Sometimes, it's part and parcel to my work. But how can I help it? I've located the sheet music for the hymn that uses Blake's poetry for Nan, it's in here somewhere. I was wrong when I told you last time we met here, that the works of some British poets would have been composed, it hasn't been done, yet, but surely it will be done, at some point. All those gothic echoes in children's poems, and rhythms, across different eras. Would you like some tea, perhaps?"

And soon, the light scent of jasmine tea wafted into that study, and letting the steam cover her face, Alice said "Madeline do you happen to have a folder, relating to Christine Stuart Dawson?"

Madeline glanced pointedly at Alice, and remarked, "Yes, I have, but the real question is what has happened, as I don't think the information in that folder will help you at all, as I think you know that very well."

Alice gave Madeline a wary look and said quietly, "The lessons are going well, and my repertoire is slowly coming together, and I think that I've improved, with leaps."

Madeline tapped the rim of her teacup with her fingernail, and sighed lightly, saying, " I know from my own experience that at a certain point, all looks and touches, one can interpret them with extreme sensitivity, and it can be quite difficult to separate casual continental compliments, form another kind of elemental frisson of liminal connection, especially when one considers that in the circles where both dear Dorothy and Christine Stuart Dawson move, such manners are still the norm."

Alice let out a small shuddering sigh, as she said with a slightly shaky voice, "Thank you for your words, they were exactly what I yearned to hear."

Madeleine glanced at Alice and said playfully, "Well, go to your sewing or your librettos, for it is time for me to return to my forms and shelves, although the company was excellent."

When Alice's footsteps had ceased to be heard from the corridors, Madeline looked up at her mirror and said, "Deep streams and backwaters, sudden passions, that's what life still seems to be in Bluenose circles. Strange that nothing seems to have changed. The facades have only become more transparent, or then it's about being able to see through them these days."

And with a sigh, Madeline, stroked Claire's latest letter, and read the lines it contained once more.

M

I spent hours sitting in a library, imagining you by my side. The light of Venice is wonderful, still, although the atmosphere here is serious. I am glad that you have friends around you, and that one of them is my cousin, her salon seems captivating. That little photo you attached to your letter is gorgeous, although you look too worried, I think you've almost completely forgotten how to smile, or perhaps you gave me some official portrait, I could imagine so, if I had not noticed the blue dress, which enhances the fresh color of your face, and that little mischievous twinkle in your eyes.

as ever,

C

Dorian Gardiner, sat in his own room in Gardiner Hall, and sulked. The reason for his petulant mood was a letter that had arrived in the afternoon mail. And swinging the sleeves of the pink silk dressing-gown from his wrists, Dorian re-read the exact, italicized lines.

Dear Dorian!

First of all, I am deeply sorry for the delay in my reply to your eager letter. This past month has been full of various errands and debates, and sessions, so much so that I've been running around Toronto, almost at all hours. Although it would be lovely to attend your birthday party next month, at Gardiner Hall, and although I could stay at your family home, or alternatively with the Blythe twins in the cozy Primrose Hollow, I must unfortunately decline the invitation, as my own duties keep me firmly in Toronto. As you know, the international situation is serious, and the Allies are at war on the Western Front, so I ask if it makes sense to organize elaborate parties at these times? Isn't it just a waste when those funds could be organized much better? I know from your letter that it is a tradition that is challenging to break, and I don't expect you to do so. I just want to point out that there are other options. I happened to send my brother the war issue of Perennial and he was extremely impressed with it. In consecuence I have received a request from my brother to convey to you his wish that the two of you would begin a correspondence. Dorian, you are doing what you can in Perennial's office, as is my brother on the front, and he desperately needs something else to think about. My brother has a way with words, as you also have, I think you might find some common ground.

Thank you for the lilies and orchids you sent, they were lovely, but I hope you won't do it again, the cost was just too much. I hope to see gallant Gardiner Hall some day, or perhaps we shall meet in the fair Glen, some summer of peace.

Best regards,

PRF

Dorian, folded Persis Ford's letter back into the envelope, and glanced at the thin card on which the contact information of Canadian captain was written in the same smooth handwriting. And pressing his fountain pen into the cream-white monogrammed paper, Dorian began to write.

A couple of hours later, Dorian heard his aunt Adeline's cool voice inquire, "Dorian, what exactly are you wearing?"

Dorian turned, and the pink silk glistened in the light, as did the string of pearls that lay on the table, and he said, aiming for lightness, "I wanted to do baroque, doesn't pink suit me well?" Adeline's nostrils narrowed and she almost scowled, "Don't be flippant, Dorian, that's almost indecent."

Dorian, raised his eyebrows, and said gently, "Actually, men in the 17th century dressed much more ornately than women, and it wasn't until the 19th century that men's clothing became a bit boring, and only spiced up by different tie pins and different patterns on waistcoats."

Adeline's face contorted and she turned on her heel and disappeared into the corridor.

Dorian, looked at Valentine's painting, and said half aloud. "I've been honing that sentence for weeks, it was wonderful to finally be able to say it to her. The look on her face was indescribable."

In the following weeks, atmosphere at the table in Gardiner Hall was chilly, and it only increased when pale and red-eyed Roy sat down next to Adeline. Adeline snorted significantly, and clinked her teaspoon with exaggerated force, as she had often done.

Dorian glared his Aunt, as he pondered that drive with Robert's little bone-colored car on a May night, through the streets of Kingsport, when Robert had said seriously, with a little mischievous twinkle in his dark blue eyes, "A little advice, I if I may. Don't be in a hurry, Taste life, and get yourself various experiences. You'll have time to get married when the time is right. Don't let Roy or anyone else like your Aunts pressure you. Do what you want to do, but don't waste your years on fun, and frolic, though it can be very liberating, as you'll find out sooner or later."

Car had stopped, in front of a respectable looking house, and Robert, grinning and holding out his hand to Dorian, had said, "Well, come on." Dorian had shaken his head, and Robert had ruffled his curls, and laughed softly, as the car's tires had squealed, and Dorian's laughter had echoed freely.

Cautiously Dorian glanced towards Royal, and quietly he raising his tea-cup, said in a declarative tone. " I hope that my birthday will be smaller this year, because the loss of Robert and others is very painful, as well as the current circumstances are far from ideal, still. We have to keep faith in our troops "over there". I know that the invitations have already been sent and responses are arriving daily, but changes can also be made. " Royal nodded, as Adeline wrinkled her forehead thoughtfully.

The well-manicured lawns sparkled, and the August bloom glowed around Gardiner Hall, the pigeons cooed and the blackbirds sang in the gloom as Dorian's birthday approached, all of Gardiner Hall seemed to hum, with barely supressed exitement.