But she was wrong. She knew it the moment she walked into the beautiful drawing room, cold and correct like its mistress. Leah had not changed. As one slow minute dragged forth a fresh one, Pavia saw the old faults grown bigger, the few virtues nearly dead. Pavia's mind could not leave her hotel suite, where the girl she loved above all else was waiting for a fatal call.

And Leah, receiving no encouragement, nor even interest, became more aggressive, and after dinner in the middle of a plea for forgiveness and understanding, with tears, and "can't we try just once more, darling," the sleek young chauffeur had strolled in, out of uniform, his collar open, as if he had owned the house! The situation was as ludicrously clear as Leah's face. Pavia could hardly keep from laughing aloud. Of course, the man had apologized, thinking, "Madame was alone," which only made matters worse for Leah. After that, even a fool would have understood that Leah didn't care where her pleasures came from so long as the supply was tremendous, varied and unending. Pavia went back to town in a cab, leaving Leah's paramour to justify his deliberate intrusion in ways best known. to them alone. She hoped they would be very happy, as she laughed in spite of her misery.

But the episode had helped to restore enough perspective to get her through her first performance at the Antoinette Room. She had told Joe Rich, "I'll just do three numbers," and afterward, "I don't think I should do a second show the first night bad psychology to crowd them on an opening," and miraculously, he had agreed with her. She escaped to her suite where she expected to find her secretary at least ecstatic, and probably packed.

To Pavia's surprise, there was a candlelit table laid for two overlooking the city, the lake and the night. Jill, who had been weeping, was dressed in the gown Pavia liked best. But she barely spoke as Pavia took off her wrap.

"Well," Pavia tried to sound cheerful, "is this for Auld Lang Syne."

"It is an occasion," Jill said, biting her lip and not looking at her. Then she burst forth, "I can't leave you, Pavia. Jerry called just a few minutes ago. My answer was no. He... he was even drunk!"

"But why no? He has a right to get drunk once in a while, surely?"

"It wasn't that! Drunk or sober, I don't love him... like I do you!" She started to cry. "Mrs. Brake may be more important to you than I am but she won't

go with you everywhere as I will, and you do need me . . . in spite of what you may think... as I need you!"

Pavia felt the fatigue within her melt from her mind down through her muscles. She felt like a girl again herself, living in the imagery of Millay and Dickinson. But she knew Jill too well. She must not give in too quickly to her for the girl had to be taught to be stronger and more self reliant somehow, and Pavia knew how she must teach her. It would be difficult, but it would be heaven. "Jill, dear," she said quietly, "I've a surprise for you two of them, in fact, before we have a long, long talk. First, Mrs. Brake is sleeping with her chauffeur, and I'm glad she is. Second, if you found a jeweler's box when you unpacked for me, it's for you. You see, I remembered what day it is too," she nodded to the roses and candlelight. "Why don't you get the box?"

"Pavia! It can't be the "Jill ran from the room.

"But it is, dear," Pavia said softly as the girl brought the box back and opened it. "Every flower a perfection of the carver's art, all worked into several strands of tiny pearls.' Something out of the same gentle sea from which Aphrodite arose, and over which Sappho gazed as she wrote her lyrics. It might have been my going away gift, but thank God, it isn't. Come, my mouse, let me help you put it on."