reassuringly.

"Nothing," he said. "Picked them up on the way from the station. I made
a hasty trip to that precious Lilac Valley of yours, and I must say it
pales your representation. It is a wonderfully lovely spot."

Marian settled back in the chair. She picked up the violets and ran an
experienced finger around the stems until she found the pin with which
she fastened them at her waist. Then as they occupied themselves making
selections from the candy box he looked smilingly at Marian. Her eyes
noted the change in him. He was neither disappointed nor sad. Something
had happened in Lilac Valley that had changed his perspective.
Womanlike, she began probing.

"Glad you liked my valley," she said. "We are told that blue is a
wonderful aura to surround a person, and it's equally wonderful when it
surrounds a whole valley. With the blue sky and the blue walls and a few
true-blue friends I have there, it's naturally a very dear spot to me."

"Yes," said Mr. Snow, "I can see that it is. I ran down on a business
matter. I have been deeply puzzled and much perturbed over this prize
contest. We have run these affairs once a year, sometimes oftener, for
a long time, so I couldn't understand the peculiar thing about the
similarity of the winning plans and your work this year. I have been
holding up the prize money, because I did not feel that you were saying
exactly what was in your heart, and I couldn't be altogether satisfied
that everything was right. I went to Lilac Valley because I had a letter
from your friend, Miss Linda Strong. There was an enclosure in it."

He drew from his pocket the folded sheet and handed it to Marian. Her
eyes were surprised, incredulous, as she opened the missing sheet
from her plans, saw the extraneous lines drawn upon it and the minute
figuring with which the margin was covered.

"Linda found it at last!" she cried. "Where in this world did she get
it, and whose work is this on it?"

"She got it," said Eugene Snow, "when she undertook to clean Peter
Morrison's workroom on an evening when she and her cook were having
supper with him. She turned a coat belonging to his architect that hung
with some of his clothing in Peter Morrison's garage. She was shaking
the nest of a field mouse from one of the side pockets. Naturally this
emptied all the pockets, and in gathering up their contents she came
across that plan, which she recognized. She thought it was right to take
it and very wisely fel