Ellen's music. She had become absorbed in it, utterly. It was impossible to say when she would come in to supper.
Then Willie, in an attempt at courtliness, strained the truth somewhat. "You don't look a day older, Lily . . . not a day. . . . Just the same. It's remarkable."
His companion lifted the lid of the chafing dish. "Some hot chicken, Willie?" she asked, and when he nodded, "I must say you look younger . . . ten years younger than the last time I saw you. Why, you look as though you'd forgotten the Mills . . . completely."
Willie laughed. It was a curious elated laugh, a little wild for all its softness.
"I have," he said. "You see I'm out of the Mills for good. I've been out of them for almost seven years."
Lily looked at him. "Seven years," she said, "seven years! Why that's since the strike. You must have gotten out at the same time."
"I did," he replied, "I own some stock. That's all. Judge Weissman is dead, you know. When mother died, the old crowd went out of it for good. All the Mills are now a part of the Amalgamated."
