she told Howard later.

"It was such a nice baby," she said, feeling for an idea. "I think
probably God was lonely without it, and sent an angel for it again."

"But it is still upstairs," Lily had insisted. She had had a curious
instinct for truth, even then. But there Grace's imagination had failed
her, and she sent for Mademoiselle. Mademoiselle was a good Catholic,
and very clear in her own mind, but what she left in Lily's brain was
a confused conviction that every person was two persons, a body and a
soul. Death was simply a split-up, then. One part of you, the part that
bathed every morning and had its toe-nails cut, and went to dancing
school in a white frock and thin black silk stockings and carriage boots
over pumps, that part was buried and would only came up again at the
Resurrection. But the other part was all the time very happy, and mostly
singing.

Lily did not like to sing.

Then there was the matter of tears. People only cried when they hurt
themselves. She had been told that again and again when she threatened
tears over her music lesson. But when Aunt Elinor had gone away she had
found Mademoiselle, the deadly antagonist of tears, weeping. And here
again Grace remembered the child's wide, insistent eyes.

"Why?"

"She is sorry for Aunt Elinor."

"Because her baby's gone to God? She ought to be glad, oughtn't she?"

"Not that;" said Grace, and had brought a box of chocolates and given
her one, although they were not permitted save one after each meal.

Then Lily had gone away to school. How carefully the school had been
selected! When she came back, however, there had been no more questions,
and Grace had sighed with relief. That bad time was over, anyhow. But
Lily was rather difficult those days. She seemed, in some vague
way, resentful. Her mother found her, now and then, in a frowning,
half-defiant mood. And once, when Mademoiselle had ventured some jesting
remark about young Alston Denslow, she was stupefied to see the girl
march out of the room, her chin high, not to be seen again for hours.

Grace's mind was sub-consciously remembering those things even when she
spoke.

"I didn't know you were having to learn about that side of life," she
said, after a brief silence.

"That side of life is life, mother," Lily said gravely. But Grace did
not reply to that. It was characteristic of her to follow her own line
of thought.

"I wish you wouldn't tell your grandfather. You know he feels