CHAPTER XXXIHilary awakened in a bath of sunlight, to find the clock at the incredible hour of ten. She had lain awake for a long time, in the night, before getting to sleep, her thoughts wavering to Butterfly and to Craig, sometimes, but always homing, with that new deep sense of amazement and joy, to Konrad. But sleep, coming at last, was the sweetest she had ever known.
Alice was moving softly about the room, and came to the bedside carrying a florist’s box tied with shiny, narrow purple ribbons. Hilary smiled, sat up, and slipped her arms into a jacket.
“Is Mrs. Spaulding, Mrs. Craig, up yet, Alice?” she asked, pleasantly indifferent in tone.
“Emma said she had a headache,” Alice answered, her appreciative eyes, and Hilary’s, feasting upon the damp, fragrant violets as they were lif
