Everything was gray.

Jem felt the chills go through him, once again, until somewhere there were crunching footsteps. His left leg was throbbing, sickly sweet scent of puss, was everywhere. In the midst of gloom of stained straw pallets, and not Bakerian rations, was a polite voice, with the sound of London in it. " . Our first duty is to escape, but now we wait, and gather strength." Jem, raising himself carefully on one elbow, looked across the shadowy room.

POWs were kept in close quarters, the conditions were not ideal, but so far no very blatant violations had come to light. Among the mass of prisoners, military discipline had begun to loosen, and every man was for himself - here. He licked his dry lips, and murmured, "You are right Captain Cronin."

The British captain, shrugged his shoulders, and his worn and stained uniform, of Rendleshire Fusiliers, as he said in a whisper, " I am not devout, but I feel that perhaps it is some Divine intervention, that we meet here again, in this hellhole, when before misty London was around us, and the bright eyes of our loved ones, and the tunes of the waltz. I'm sure my mother will take care of my Myra."

Jem nodded half-heartedly, as he did so he remembered Myra's delicate quivering being, and the love that had shone from the dark-haired ballet dancer's every gesture as she glanced at Roy. Beside that rose-tinted english lass, Faith, how vivid and lovely she had been in contrast, how strong. Jem clung passionately to the memory of Faith's last loving look, as well as her golden laugh, as bloodly chills, came with more severity.

Roy Cronin looked worried, as lanky, red-haired Lt. Blythe fell into unconsciousness, he was mumbling something. Cronin, pounded the wall with his fist and raised his voice, in that polished patrician style German, which his teachers had drilled into him, in his boyhood years, as he called out, Schubert's "An den Tod."

The guard on duty gave a sour grin and said rudely, "Nobody dies here, even though it might seem like it. What's the matter?" Roy, said coolly "We only got half-rations yesterday."

The only response was a half growl. " It's full here, and cutbacks will have to do. But if you have english cigarettes, I'll see what I can do."

Roy waited patiently, twirling a small light object, a love token, from Myra, between his fingers.

Jem coughed, a tearing hoarse cough, and then after a while he said in a drowsy, hoarse voice, "I will try to avoid falling into the hands of their doctors, except in extremis. If you have anything to trade do so, in the benefit of us both. I will pay by my debt, we Blythe's always do it."

Faith Meredith was worried, but that was nothing new. With difficulty she was able to perform her duties at her ward, for from the moment word of Jem had arrived every patient, especially the most serious cases, made her nerves tense to the utmost, as she saw Jem in all of them.

As a result, often in the evenings before the last round of medicine for her patients, she sat in the chapel, whose Church of England splendor was a far cry from the simplicity of Glen's Manse. Faith took the folded letter from her pocket, and in the flickering light of the candles read those lines again.

It seemed that Myra Lester had disappeared. She no longer lived in her former rented room, and the previous afternoon, as her errands had made it possible, Faith had been to the stage door of the Olympos Theater, and some of Myra's fellow dancers had said in unison, "Oh, Myra. Madame gave her the boot, a couple of months ago, as there had been spot of unplesantness."

Faith remembered how she had walked the streets of London, criss-crossing, but how to find one girl in particular. The search was hopeless, like a needle in a haystack. Finally she had ended up as if by chance at St. Pancras station, the Neo-Gothic building sparkling in the afternoon sun.

The Head Matron had authorized Faith to retrieve a package of Red Cross supplies, and while waiting for the shipment, Faith in passing noticed that the platform was bustling with trains arriving, and uniformed soldiers, and busy well-dressed civilians hopping off. Just a glance to know that none of the soldiers who passed her, were not Jem.

Suddenly Faith strained her hearing, as the two matrons in sober dress remarked to each other in a low voice, "Well Daisy, quite immoral that is. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't heard and, above all, seen it with my own eyes. How low can young people really sink these days?" "Yes, Sybill dear. And look, there must be another one over there?"

Curious, Faith looked at the train on the platform, in the middle of the crowd, aimlessly or so it seemed walked a graceful, upright woman, with a dainty hat, who had a light step, a man with a hat in civilian clothes, and soon they had disappeared into the depths of St. Pancras station. Only one encounter, out of thousands, but still the disapproval of the matrons rankled Faith, as she, after receiving the package, walked out of the station into the darkening evening, the glow of May was in the air as air was balmy.

On her evening rounds, Faith overheard the conversation of two nearly recovered soldiers, as she was filling phials of morphine. "There are rumors that a certain kind of company can always be found at certain times, often in the afternoons at St. Pancras station. I know one who knows another and so on, all wholesome fun, not to worry."

Faith put down the tray and said sharply, but sunnyly, "Lads, remember your loved ones, and write them letters if you prefer, and don't get lost in the path of temptation." Private Carter blushed and lowered his gaze, but the other, Private Judd, gave her a ponderous and cheekily confident look and said in a sing song tone, "Lovely VAD Meredith, we don't need a homily, especially since it's not Sunday. Road to Temptations can be great fun, huh?"

Faith held on to her professional composure with difficulty, as she turned and said sharply, "Very well, but Private, don't come here and cry if you get something unsavory, like gonorrhea, for instance." Faith only heard stunned silence and then Private Carter said, "Miss Meredith has your number, truly Mike."

And that evening, Faith glanced at an old photograph of Jem leaning carelessly against a tree in Ingelside's garden, and his smile seemed to say, as ever, "Faith, life is full of adventure and fun!"

And glancing at the calendar that hung on the worn, shabby wall, Faith realized that soon there would be a Convocation in Redmond. Nan's letters had been full of Redmond's bustle, splendor of springtime, impishess of Sue, how well she did get along with others, at Primrose Hollow, but also her neverending worry of Jerry´s well-being, and of a mysterious illness that sounded frighteningly familiar, that Dorian had been in throes, for similar cases were here too, the hiss and rattle of mucous breathing, and bluish, cyanotic skin tone, of those poor souls, for whom there is no more help. Exhausted, Faith rested her head on her arms, and fell into a fitful, almost unconscious sleep.

VADS and matrons did their chores, and the hospital revolved around its own circle, its own little solar system, insular, but not. Bleak corridors, medicine ampoules, patient folders, clinical rooms, and patients where the flame of life still glowed. And again and again more and more patients piled up in a certain wing, as did all other hospitals and lazarettes in the London area.

In a shabbily cluttered rented room, in a not very good residential area, Myra Lester, glanced at the wall clock, and looked at the mirror of the dressing table, as she carefully enhanced her face, with the skill she had as a former ballet dancer. As she chose her hat, she again remembered the tearing pain in her heart when the newspaper had declared her Roy dead. And how, as the weeks passed, in the throes of deep depression and cutting despair, Kitty, lovely Kitty, had finally said lightly, Kitty, did everything lightly, "Myra, do you want to starve to death? There are always alternatives, and you're so pretty, I'm sure you'll get company easily."

And so it had begun, it was time to go again.

Myra put on her favorite hat, in a certain way that its brim shaded her face, and walked with swift, graceful winged steps through the streets of London, the parks blooming with fragrant flower arrangements, and the headlines of the papers declaring, "The third battle of the Aisne is on!"

Susan looked sullenly at the colorful, hazy orchids bathed in light on Ingelside's windowsill, their flowers seemed to be whispering something unholy, but unfortunately Mrs. Doctor Dear seemed to take a liking to them.

Little Kitcherer's laugh could be heard brightly from the garden where Rilla and Betty Meade sat sewing.

Anne Blythe looked at the orchids with a smile, as she said thoughtfully, "I usually don't like flowers like that, they're a bit too much, but as always dear Gilbert knows how to choose the right one. They're lovely in their own right, as is Hermes, the tortoise."

Rosemary Meredith said softly, "Are you and Gilbert going to Redmond for twins Convocation?" Anne, glancing thoughtfully at the drowsy bees buzzing among the flowers in the garden, as she replied, "Nan wrote me about it. She thinks we shouldn't, as the journey is expensive, and in a couple of weeks my dear girls will be here again. And Gilbert is drowning in work, after his Redmondian consultation case, and the end of May is always so busy here in Glen."

Rosemary Meredith looked thoughtfully at Anne Blythe, for it was as if some strained emotion had glowed between the ordinary words.

Anne turned her back resolutely on the orchids, and stirred her tea in silence, in Ingelside's homely drawing-room, as she remembered Gilbert's tired, shadowy face, as he had muttered in her hair, " It was grim. I did what I could. Gardiner Hall was splendid, but gloomy full of shadows and family secrets. Servants in the corridors, maids with clipped accents, and the domineering presence of one of Royal Gardiner's sister pressing in. And you know, Anne-girl, one early evening as I sat in the divinely beautiful library, that you would love, as does Nan, by all accounts, I noticed how Dorothy Gardiner and her party spent the evening, perfectly decent, in a little room, next to the library, with a very handsome tea-tray, with cups of various kinds, and also, for some reason, soucream-curd pancakes, which smelled delicious.

Curious, I went to greet them, and we talked a little, naturally the subject was mostly about Dorian. One of the women, slender auburnhaired Isabelle by name, reminded me in a strange way of poor Ruby, but her charm was sharper. Another dark-haired woman, Claire, who looked like a saint in an Italian Renaissance painting, she is apparently a kin to Gardiners, seemed very unsettled, in a peculiar still way, as she conversed in a low voice with Dorothy, before going to watch over Dorian's bedside, as she passed me she hummed a strand of italian style music, it seemed to be some kind of lullaby.

A peculiar situation happened, I wouldn't remember it otherwise, but it was so absurd. Adeline Gardiner came into the room, she glanced once extremely coolly at the little party, and said briefly, "Ah, Doctor Blythe, how delightful that you came to help dear poor Dorian. We owe you a debt of gratitude." Dorothy Gardiner, set her teacup on the saucer and said bitterly, "Addie, Addie, first of all, our nephew has never been poor, and secondly, he's still with us, go do something useful, look for our brother. It's about time Roy came out of the obscurity of his club, among the rest of us, and do not pester Dr. Blythe, further."

For a moment I imagined, my dear, that the situation was going to get really ugly, in that civilized way, as Glen's annual bake sales sometimes do, but then there were footsteps at the door, and lively chatter. And I saw Isabelle's face light up as she exclaimed, "Winnie and Madeleine, it's great to have you here too. Madeleine so, it seems that Redmond Musical Library can be standing without you guarding at the premises, at all hours. Winnie, finished thralling audiences for a time, then? How the current run is going? Let be all miserable together in here most delicous nook of Gardiner Hall."

Adeline Gardiner cast a venomous glance at slight redheaded woman, who was drinking tea, with dainty movements, her lilac skirts swaying. The teacups circled the ring, as she sniffed, and flounced away, and I half heard Dorothy Gardiner remark, "My dear sister has a bee in her bonnet over many things, as it ever the case with her."

I delved again with vigor, into my notes, and half heard indistinct fragments of their conversation, and then, when I looked up once more, I saw that the room was empty, and there was some vaudeville music coming from somewhere, clearly, tenderly, resonant strains, but my patient was waiting, so I did not go in search of amusement.

When I arrived at Dorian's dimly lit room, I found Claire carefully placing a pink silk dressing gown folded on Dorian's pillow, brushing dark curls from Dorian's forehead, she said softly, "It was his Mothers, and I thought it might help."

Something shimmered among the cushions, and Claire's narrow fingers carefully wrapped around it, as she brought out the brilliant string of pearls, as she carefully caressed the pearls one by one, and recited, intermittently, Salve Regina.

Among the pillows, Dorian moved restlessly, his dark eyelashes shadowing his narrow cheeks. Curious, Gilbert looked into the large painting, and after taking Dorian's pulse and writing down the notes, he inquired, "What happened?" Claire's delicate face had a closed expression, as she looked at the painting and said quietly, with a slight irony that seemed to be the default Gardiner way, "It is not my story to tell, but she was delightful, vivid but haunted."

Anne's eyes had glistened with tears, as Gilbert kissed away the tears one by one, slowly she caressed those lovely shoulders, which still on the roads of the Glen drew the eyes of married ladies, as they had done in the days of Avonlea, and in Redmond too, when Gilbert Blythe had been a toast of Redmond, with his curls, and cleverness. Anne had planted a light kiss on Gilbert's forehead, as she had cradled him in her arms, as she had remarked, in careful way, "It seems his sisters haven't changed very much. Adeline was always snobbish, and Dorothy warm-hearted and open-hearted. But from this description I can gather that you met some of the people who have been important to our children's time in Redmond. For a few of those names have occasionally come up, first in Walter's letters, and then later in Di and Nan's letters, too. In fact, in her last letter, Nan expressed a little concern that Di would stay permanently to Kingsport, because apparently she has work there, and writing too, with Perennial, but I comforted her as best I could."

Susan poured the fragrant tea into the cups again and Anne turned her attention back to Rosemary's news. Bruce was inconsolable when the news of Jem had come, and many evenings Bruce sat quietly by his cat's side and did not play the piano at all. But little by little, he wasn't so enthusiastic about the jam categories anymore, or the fairies either. Even Una didn't seem to be able to connect with Bruce, and that in itself was remarkable. Concern sparkled in Rosemary's blue eyes as she pressed her hand to her chest and whispered, "Oh, Anne, not that Westian strain of melancholy, not in my child. Then again, everyone here always says how much Bruce looks like my sister. I have to pray he doesn't have Ellen's temperament too. "

Susan laid a comforting work-hardened hand on Rosemary's shoulder as she said, "Never fret. Bruce has fine mettle in him, he is only deep, like his Father, he must be thinking deep thoughts that we will hear about when the time comes.

" Rilla's laughter could be heard from the open window, as she exclaimed, "Jims, Jims, put Hermes down, you can't carry turtles as your sleep toys." Jims replied stubbornly, "I will, Willa, I will carry him to Victory!"

Susan muttered, "That godless, ungodly animal is even more hideous, than that cat, and that one can tie to! I have seen it languishing near my peony beds, slyly, it plans something to destroy my flowers."

A hearty laugh erupted in the living room as Rosemary Meredith gently remarked, "Dear Susan, according to John's animal reference book, turtles, at least some species, eat insects." Undeterred Susan, remarked, "Maybe, but I'd rather wait and see than put too much faith in the books!"

Professor Milne paused on his walk, Redmond's Quads were full, of co-eds enjoying their free days, before the rush of Convocation would be starting. In one corner, which was slightly forested, sparkled, impeccably piably, creamily rendered Mozart´s Giunse Alfin il momento, Deh, vieni. That vocalist, whoever she was, was perfect Susanna, in her voice was the alluring mix of playfulness and promise.

And with amusement Milne remembered how Dr. Beldevere had been the last time they met after the final exams, he had been very smug in a very particular way, as he had remarked competitively, " Milne, my students are rehearsing Figaro, and I must point out that for once all the roles have gone completely as they should be. There's real promise in the crowd."

Curious, Professor Milne walked closer to the small oasis created by the greenish shadows. And he noticed that on the mossy stone sat a dark-haired girl, in a blue dress, her skin color was a fresh, porcelain rose like in the novels of the 19th century, and she had a decidedly coy look in her mien, as Susanna's aria, began again, in well rounded, shimmeringly recognizable tone. Suppressing his smile, Professor Milne retreated into the shadows, as he did so, he thought it easy to imagine this girl in the guise of Countess, in a rustling amethyst cloak, in a shady garden, in some upcoming production of Figaro, and later in a few years perhaps even in the role of Countess, as all the shades of wistful love twined in Dove Sono would suit her clear tone in most marvelous way.

Dr. Beldevere looked up irritably from the stacks of notes, as a soft knock broke the afternoon peace of his study. Professor Milne's worn, angular tweed-clad form peered through the door, as he said in a too jovial tone, "Old chum, I happened to meet your Susanna just now, and I must say that for once your praise of your pupils was spot on. But have you thought of Rigoletto's quartet, for Convocation?"

Dr. Beldevere, looked sharply in Milne's direction and said briefly. "can't be implemented because there aren't tenors and baritones, not enough." Milne, nodded thoughtfully and remarked, "Indeed. Redmonds corridors are rife with Gildas and Maddalenas, as well as upcoming Countesses, and Carmens, is it that so?" Dr. Beldevere said dryly, "Sometimes you seem to want my job, even though you love your books and being a conductor, but it's just a hobby for you, albeit a dear one. But now that you're where I can see you, I have a proposal."

Royal Gardiner was sitting in the doubtful peace of his club, as George's voice said quietly, "Mr. Gardiner, here would be the afternoon's international and domestic mail. And may I say that I am glad that young Mr. Gardiner is on the mend, for last week I was at my sister's funeral, she received the same of the disease, and did not rally." Royal looked up at the ever so efficient George's face, which was strained, but his uniform was as neat as ever.

Roy took out his wallet and carelessly wrote a check, and said quietly, "George, here's something for your family's grief, I know money won't help much, but it can pave the way."

George bowed stiffly, and said, "Thank you. I appreciate your gesture, I also want to say that Collings is coming here soon, I saw him in the lobby, so I suggest you go read your letters in the inner room instead of this open lounge?"

A slight smile lit up Roy's eyes as he noticed once again George's elegant sophistication and the skill with which he kept abreast of the affairs of the club's customers. Roy, carelessly waved his hand and cut open Christine's letter with an eagle-headed penknife, saying, "I can deal with the likes of Collings, George, no need to fret."

A little while later, George glanced into the mahogany parlor, and he noticed that some customer had thrown a precious sculpture of Marc Anthony against the paneled wall, and there were shards of a port decanter on the floor, and the room smelled of sweet cigars. From the hallway came a heated, almost furious argument, with Collings' nasal voice at the top, "Gardiner, I swear one day, maybe soon, your luck will run out, and you'll wish you'd made a different choice today when you had the chance!"

Panting, Dorian Gardiner leaned against the doorframe of Perennial's office. His legs almost felt like they were failing him, and once again he heard Doctor Blythe's precise, friendly voice say, "Dorian, you have a long road ahead of you in the coming weeks, and maybe even months, for we don't know what the future holds. Take extreme care, in fact I would recommend , that you would not attend the Convocation at all, but knowing how stubborn young people can be, I authorize both of my daughters to watch over you." Gilbert Blythe's hazel eyes had twinkled like Walter's bright radiant gray eyes at times, and Dorian had returned that smile openly, unabashedly, as the Doctor had continued in a more formal tone, "My colleagues here are monitoring your recovery, and it is of the utmost importance that you leave everything too strained doing away with."

With difficulty Dorian, with trembling hands, opened Perennial's door, and the great applause almost stunned him, as the whole office was present. Editor Saunders, even wiped his eyes, in a garish looking handkerchief as he declared, "Oh, be wellcome Mr. Gardiner, there's even a fresh cake here, I baked it myself with my grandmother's recipe." Di Blythe embraced Dorian later in a tea nook, tightly as she whispered, "I'm so glad Dads was able to help. But now sit down, you look as pale as a sheet. And have some tea, but only one biscuit, for someone new baked them, and I don't think they're very tasty." Dorian looked around at that familiar space that was homey, and smelling the pungent smell of printing ink and the hum of the printing press, and Sauders hoarse voice thundering his orders, as always, Dorian stroked Di's fine hand as he said, "How about we start our own magazine where we could utilize the skills and gifts of all of us? I have my Mother's inheritance that needs a proper purpose. I've paid a lot of war bonds with it, but there's still a lot left. What do you think?"

Di's gray-green eyes widened, as she said, "An interesting and tempting thought, Dorian, I'll have to think about it, I can't promise anything for certain, but now I must head for the Hollow, for I think Nan will soon be making concerted plans for us to have themed Convocation dresses, unless someone stops her, and I know Sue won't, because she'd think it would be fun."

In a corner of Helene's cafe, Isabelle was balancing with trays of dishes, as Madeleine entered in the haze of the yellowish afternoon. It was day until the Convocation, and all of Redmond was full of ancient arrangements that were almost unchanged since the year of Redmond's founding and the first Convocation, the wartime had made hardly any noticeable changes to the rituals.

Hilariously, Isabelle exclaimed, "Maddie, will you help? Helene went to do some last minute shopping, for the next few days, with her rationbooklet in hand, all very mysteriously so, so I'm left here to do to some errands, which mostly consist of washing up, which wrecks havoc on my hands, like no other!"

Calmly, Madeleine, picked up the wobbly tray and placed it a safe distance away, remarking, "You'd think Helene would have learned by now, you and dishes aren't a good combination. You rule cacti and plants, but not cockery."

Impishly, Isabelle grabbed a soft bisquit from the bowl and sat down on the purple counter, and said. " I love the time of Convocation, for our work is so easy then. Nobody comes, and there is no nerves to settle, but shelving of books, ad nauseaum."

Madeleine glanced in the direction of the piano, which was in the dusty sunlight, on top of the bumpy piano cover was a tattered folder, and Madeleine said quietly, "Perhaps. Come, have a spot of tea and you can tell me what's on your mind."

Isabelle, stirred her tea with sudden, jerky movements, and finally she murmured, " Redmond's gossip is a hornet's nest, and nobody takes me seriously." Amusement flashed in Madeleine's eyes as she remarked, "Are you referring to the gossip involving a certain professor and your honorable cool personality perhaps?"

Isabelle grimaced.

Madeleine laughed lightly, and said, "Dear friend, if you followed collage grapewine at all you would know that Milne is married, and the only interest he has in your department is apparently his late son who had a pash for you, which of course you didn't notice. And of course your close friends won't take you seriously, because if we did we'd have a lot less drama to watch. Tell me how many hearts you've won over the past week."

Isabelle smiled as she replied, "Well, that would be telling, tales, would it."

And then, as often before, the cafe door opened, and in rushed Helene, laden with parcels, Winnie Roberts her curls all tousled, and Di Blythe almost in lockstep. And soon the music, quivering and exceedingly delicate, tempestuous and gloomy sparkled, as Winne practised, as the afternoon passed towards evening. And when a set had wound into cloisure, and the delighted customers had departed, Isabelle glanced towards the piano corner, for a wave of sympathy surged through her breast, for Di Blyhe's bright eyes had the same look she recognized, and with an ironic smile, Isabelle walked over to the piano and said quietly," Be careful not to burn yourself."

A slight reserve stiffened Di Blythe's being as she replied, "I only play the piano when asked, nothing more, nothing less and sometimes we talk." Winnie's laugh echoed slightly hoarsely in the homely space, as Isabelle glanced at Madeleine, who shook her head barely perceptibly. Isabelle, tilted her head and said lightly, charmingly disarmingly, "Oh, my mistake then.

Afterwards, in a haze of powder and lily perfume, as the shadows danced in the worn room in the bluish hours of the night, Di leaned against Winnie's shoulder, lightly, softly, as Winnie rebuked softly, "Oh, lamb, usually my pianists don't chase me, or at least I haven't noticed, but it seems that you are an exception. Others yes, with eagerness."

Di, gently touched Winnie's cheekbone, and then the touch, slowly trailed lower, as Di touched Mangolia's white silk dressing gown, as Winnie, shuddered as she said lightly scoldingly, " Desist, please."

In response, Di planted a light kiss on Winnie's neck, as she murmured, in defiant way, "I shan't!"

From the dressing table mirror, Di watched as a light, delicate rosy flush spread slowly over Winnie's neck, under a light layer of powder, as Di remarked in a light tone, "Somehow I think you don't want me to stop?"

Some time later, Winnie, stretching slightly, her messy, flowing hair tickling Di's cheek, as she said, "Maybe you were thinking of sleeping through Convocation, because that's what's going to happen if you don't get out of here soon."

The atmosphere was electrified by a knock on the door and a voice thick with resonant expensive bourdeaux said, fuzzily " Miss Roberts, are you there. Did you get my flowers, they were lilies, reddish."

Di, grinned, as she whispered, "Others, indeed, so it would seem. Yes, the life of an entertainer is sometimes quite la vie bohemienne, almost like in the 1890s, only attics Parisian ones, and tuberculosis are missing, but I refuse to climb out of the window."

Winnie shrugged, as she remarked quietly, "No need, those types will go away soon, they always do, eventually."

In the watery light, Winnie's face suddenly looked tired and worn, as if her normal glowing vivacity, and lush epoch looks, were just the surface. And gently Di asked, "Aren't you ever tired of this?"

Winnie, glanced at blooming lovely, devoted Di, sitting, or lounging beside her on the divan, her slim legs all akimbo, and she threw a moist, limpidly warm glance at her, as she murmured, " Sometimes, but then something surprising happens, like you, for example, and I find again that performing for an audience is one of the most wonderful things that can to be in earthly life."

The birds sang ecstatically in the garden of Primrose Hollow as Di crept cautiously inside. The living room was full of various Convocation finery all spread out, pale rose, deep gold, startling shade of deep green silk, and misty mint hue and deep ocean blue, and from the dimness came Alice's quiet, gravely impish voice, "I hope you've had a good time, for Nan has been almost climbing the walls here since you didn't come for the night. At last I said you had gone to Dorothy's to sew, and would come back in the morning."

Alice looked critically at Di, for one endless moment, and finally she remarked, "Go to my room, and try to sleep for a couple of hours. You're sparkling and it's lovely to see, but first, here's tea and scones, fresh ones in the kitchen, I couldn't sleep, so I baked."

Di, buried her flushed face in her teacup, as Alice said softly, with a only barest hint of warm teasing in her tone, "You've got powder stains on your collar, and you've never worn that shade of lipstick, so I suggest you do something about it before the others wake up, but now I have to run, because morning mass is waiting."

So that radiantly clear day, another Redmond year course received its BA certificate, accompanied by flowers and shouts of cheer. Afterwards, both the Kingsport Herald and the Perennial wrote a two-page story about that day, the Perennial's byline was of course written by Dorian Gardiner.

The festivities at the end of the evening were spectacular, Redmond's Quad was full of brightly and colorfully dressed people. And several spectators wiped their tears, as Dr. Beldevere's students performed Marriage of Figaro.

Alice Parker walked calmly weaving through the crowd as a familiar voice pointed out from behind her, "Well now your college career is behind you and the road is open, have you thought about my plan?" Christine Stuart Dawson was leaning against a blooming lilac bush, looking carefree, elegant.

Alice cast a shadowy look at Christine and said flatly, "My plans for the next few weeks are clear. I´m going home, as I´m needed there, and there is still world scale war on. We all need to do what we can to help, the Home Front."

Christine lightly folded a single lilac flower, and placed it in Alice's hair, as she murmured, "I see. So very devoted and commendable, remember that my door is always open if you happen to need something, or other."

And with a last smolderingly challenging look, Christine slipped into the flowing mass of people.

Alice felt her cheeks burn, as the both challenge and invitation in Christine's voice had been clear. On the other side of the grass field, Alice saw how Gardiner siblings, except for Dorothy, were happily walking towards Christine across the shadow-dappled lawn.

Happily, Nan squeezed Di's gloved hand as she gleefully exclaimed, "Didn't the Dean of Redmond give a lovely, moving speech. I hope you got enough sewing done yesterday, I was quite worried, but strangely Alice told me where you were. That mint green shade looks great on you but not as pretty as my rose-tinted silk. What a pity you can't wear pink."

Di remarked cheerfully, dreamily, "There are persons who can wear pink, with enchanting effect."

Nan looked worriedly at her twin as she carefully remarked, "Di, you realize that soon this chapter will close in our lives and a new kind of life will begin when we return to the Glen, but of course there are always letters. Oh, look how elegant Dorian looks in his polka dot tie, and is that the vaudeville singer who walks with Mr. Gardiner, over there near the Gazebo, if I'm not mistaken. How romantic, Dorian likes her so much!"

Nan, noticed how Di, glanced once, lingeringly in Glazebo's direction, and said lightly, forcefully, slightly falsely, "Maybe, she is, or isn't."

The swans circled their cove calmly, as a variable crowd of Kingsportians discussed in hushed tones the latest twists and turns on the front, for the first American troops had been in successful battles, in some French villages whose names were difficult to pronounce.

A/N: Roy Cronin and Myra Lester are borrowed from Merwyn LeRoy´s Waterloo Bridge(1940)