The scent of apple blossoms mingled with the aroma of creamy cocoa, as Una Meredith sat on a carefully folded blanket, the corners of which were folded with military way, and watched Shirley Blythe carefully pour cocoa into battered mugs. Carl remarked lightly, " Cocoa in the summer, extremely special, but you're right Shirl, it's strangely calming. How did you come up with that?"

Shirley shook his head quickly so that his shiny dark brown hair momentarily flew across his high forehead, and at the sight of that Una felt her heart constrict. Shirley didn't resemble his brother, but that momentarily resemblance of gesture had been Walter to a tee.

Shirley replied quietly, " It was Una's suggestion, not mine, I imagined it might be some Manse tradition, but perhaps it isn't."

Carl shook his tawny golden head, impishly.

Una murmured quietly, " I had the idea from Professor Sorel, actually. Carl you've been so stressed, we all have been, that I thought this might help, before we return to the Glen, for a summer season, in a few days."

Carl, smirking as he noted, " I guess you're not looking forward to returning to the Glen, or am I wrong Una, or have you already recruited another accompianist for the weddings. Dear sister, you can't do everything even if you wanted to. Too bad Alice Parker isn't alive, because she also mastered the organ, if I remember correctly."

Una nodded, thoughtfully, as Shirley noted, " These scones need eating, Carl, you wanted me to do them."

Carl looked up from the sconces with interest and said, "It's kind of hard to imagine that there would be time for cocoa between piano scales and competition, it feels a bit too homey, in that part of Redmond."

Shirley replied patiently, "Carl, of course professors have free time too, or do you imagine that they are always available to students or in the depths of libraries hunting for material for new publications, or whatever."

Carl's smile was as lightly charming as a ray of sunlight falling on the lawn, as he stated, "Well, in my field, it is. Professor Sorel, she does resemble, a certain fascinating species of butterfly, Staphylus hayhurstii, it has a very excellent protective coloration."

Una noticed from a distance that Shirley's voice seemed warmly amused, as she replied, "Carl, I think you have butterfly categories for everything."

Una trembled, as the creamy cocoa and the gentle summer breeze in the leaves were similar on this beautiful afternoon to when Una had sat in a modest café, drinking cocoa, it had been slurry and too cloying.

Pofessor Sorel had sat opposite her, calm, and intensely expressionless. She had finally remarked in a voice barely louder than a whisper," I suppose you have read what the newspapers wrote, when you could connect the dots. But the truth is a little more complicated, not so shocking, but if it were the headlines wouldn't sell. May I ask how?"

Una had answered simply, "The expression of the girl in the grainy photograph, it haunted me, it seemed familiar for some reason."

Mabel Sorel glanced towards Miss Meredith, dryly, and appraisingly before saying, "You weren't horrified, then?"

The only answer was a slight movement of her dark hair as Una Meredith shook her head.

There had been a fluid slender upward shurg of narrow shoulders. Mabel Sorel nodded thoughtfully and said, in a distant voice, " It does me good, to set the record straight, in a way, if only to you, Miss Meredth. Once upon a time there was a house, an ancient ritual, an ex-communication ritual, bell, book and candle, repeated, and repeated, in furious mutters, at intervals, an ashen cross drawn on the forehead, as if it were always Lent. Then a fire. Flames that licked, burned that house to rubble, that house of sadness. Still I can clearly remeber that particular scent of hot ashes and blood. Reporters flooded in and photographs were snapped, me on the yard, stained with ash. There were ribald, even scandalous headlines, vulgar speculation. Rumors and whispers that never stopped, as that photograf were mixed with the another higher profile case, but there were nor human nor animal victims, only garden variety of carefully controlled madness,that had brust open, but the thing is no-one never belived it."

Una then found herself trembling with compassion, and with a quiet growing terror, as the features of Professor Sorel's graceful features had for a moment been completely blank, as if the child's face had returned to her features again, merging, uniting. And then, Professor Sorel had leaned forward gracefully, smiling lightly, just as in class, rarely, and the moment was broken.

With carefree steps, Victor Chase walked through the parks of Redmond, and in one corner of the park, he noticed a familiar figure, Una Meredith.

Victor Chase waved his hand lightly. And he saw from a distance how two young men, Mr Meredith and Mr Blythe, both said something emphatically to Miss Meredith, before Miss Meredith responded to the gesture, a little uncertainly, but nevertheless gracefully.

With his ambling, even lolling steps, Victor Chase, walked to the blanket and sat down on one corner of the blanket, and said familiarly, " Dear companions in former arms, will you do me the favor, and see that Miss Meredith here, also, has some fun during the summer at least once, for if that does not happen, I will be obliged to come and visit you, and arrange for it to happen."

Startled pairs of eyes, two pairs of dark blue, and one dark, warm brown blinked at him. Victor Chase rose with a smile, bent down, and took a fragrant scone from the basket, and after biting a piece of it, said, " Congratulations on the baking, Miss Meredith, I see you can bake divinely, also, but that is of course no surprise."

The tawny-golden-haired lad, Carl, laughed, in the most gay, merry way, as he remarked, " Usually you would be right Mr. Chase, but Shirley baked this."

Victor Chase smiled, as he remarked to Shirley Blythe, " Keeping everything tip top and smooth is it so, Mr. Blythe?"

But the only answer was a slightly remote shrug of the shoulders, as Shirley Blythe remarked, " There are worst things, are there."

Victor Chase nodded, in a solemn way, as for a moment the scent of apple blossoms mingled with the thick cloud of mustard gas, the blood and the thunder of war, as Victor shivered as the bell of the nearby clock tower rang out.

Carl Meredith paled,

Shirley Blythe glanced at him with concern, as Miss Meredith's lips had turned pale, as Carl groaned lightly.

A beautiful lemon butterfly flew by and, catching inspiration as he had grabbed his lance with blood-slicked hands, Victor Chase gasped, " Say Meredith, tell me something about that butterfly?"

In a breathless voice, Carl Meredith began to recite something that sounded like scholarly Latin, but Victor Chase's attention was fixed on Miss Meredith, she looked, not fragile, but a bit shaken, and eager to please her, Victor started to hum, " Jerusalem" in his light tenor, then he changed it to Elgar, "Song of Autum", by a fit of whimsy.

But the effect was opposite as Victor had intended, as Miss Meredith had blanched, the pallor of her cheeks reminded Victor of creamy funereal roses.

Later, much, much later, at HayCorner's worn but comfortable parlor, Shirley said with steely control, to Carl "If, if Mr Chase happens to come to the Glen, he must be kept away from Ingelside at all costs. The sight of him might cause too, too much harm."

Carl remarked quietly, "The solution is simple. My sister is going to have a different summer than she probably expected."

The Glen church was full of flowers, as the tunes of a magnificent wedding march pulsated as the newlyweds from Over-Harbour, certain Douglases, walked with sedate steps, through the church.

Irene Howard thought bitterly that this day should have been hers, if only, if only.

Una Meredith's sleek dark head was clearly visible, as did the visiting pianist, who had arrived only yesterday, by train, a very last minute appointment, it had been.

With great satisfaction Irene found her mood rising as she glanced at the dry and elderly-looking woman, who dressed worse than the former Miss Oliver, had ever done.

If she were lucky perhaps this summer would be the summer in which she would attract the attention of a certain person to herself, as was supposed to be the case.

Irene flashed a dazzling smile towards Shirley Blythe.

She did not see the virulent glare that Susan Baker did send her way over Blythe pew.