but you must see yourself that things cannot go on
as they are. We have waited for you to see that, all three of us, and
now this new situation makes it imperative to take some action."

"I won't have that fellow Akers coming here."

"He would hardly come, under the circumstances. Besides, her friendship
with him is only a part of her revolt. If she comes home it will be with
the understanding that she does not see him again."

"Revolt?" said old Anthony, raising his eyebrows.

"That is what it actually was. She found her liberty interfered with,
and she staged her own small rebellion. It was very human, I think."

"It was very Cardew," said old Anthony, and smiled faintly. He had, to
tell the truth, developed a grudging admiration for his granddaughter in
the past two months. He saw in her many of his own qualities, good and
bad. And, more than he cared to own, he had missed her and the young
life she had brought into the quiet house. Most important of all, she
was the last of the Cardews. Although his capitulation when it came was
curt, he was happier than he had been for weeks.

"Bring her home," he said, "but tell her about Akers. If she says that
is off, I'll forget the rest."

On her way to her room that night Grace Cardew encountered Mademoiselle,
a pale, unhappy Mademoiselle, who seemed to spend her time mostly in
Lily's empty rooms or wandering about corridors. Whenever the three
members of the family were together she would retire to her own
quarters, and there feverishly with her rosary would pray for a
softening of hearts. She did not comprehend these Americans, who were so
kind to those beneath them and so hard to each other.

"I wanted to see you, Mademoiselle," Grace said, not very steadily. "I
have good news for you."

Mademoiselle began to tremble. "She is coming? Lily is coming?"

"Yes. Will you have some fresh flowers put in her rooms in the morning?"

Suddenly Mademoiselle forgot her years of repression, and flinging her
arms around Grace's neck she kissed her. Grace held her for a moment,
patting her shoulder gently.

"We must try to make her very happy, Mademoiselle. I think things will
be different now."

Mademoiselle stood back and wiped her eyes.

"But she must be different, too," she said. "She is sweet and good,
but she is strong of will, too. The will to do, to achieve, that is
one thing, and very good. But the will to go one's own way, that is
another."

"The young are alw