"Bring her out, too. How's that, Lilly? I'll send a limousine full of pillows for her. It will take Pauline's mind off her loneliness, having some one to mother. We'll put her up in a sun room with a view of pine woods and Hudson River that cannot be surpassed. It's spring—Lilly—"
"Poor Mrs. Schum!" she replied, her smile tired and twisted. "I'm afraid her next journey will be a longer one than that."
"Poor soul! Does she still think that boy of hers is fighting?"
"Surely there is no wrong in saving her from the horror of the truth."
"You dear girl, of course, no. It's only that—somehow don't you think that before she passed on she ought to know that he's gone on before—even if you have to tell her that he died—gloriously?"
"I've thought of that," she said, looking away, "thought and thought of it."
"Lilly," he cried, reaching for her two hands She drew them back quickly and walked out.
That evening when she presented herself at the hospital the nurse met her outside the door with her finger to her lips.
"She is sinking, but conscious."
Confronted with her emergency, Lilly stood before that closed door, beating all over with her silent little prayer: