Vicki went to the Bryants’ house not knowing quite what to expect. It was Friday the thirteenth, but since she was not foolish enough to be superstitious, the date alone did not account for her sense of something special about to happen.

“Well, I can expect lunch and conversation,” Vicki thought, and went up the white marble steps of the Bryants’ house. She was a little intimidated by its grandeur, and by the butler who admitted her. “My goodness, this is much too grand for me,” Vicki thought. “They must be awfully rich.”

The butler said, “Who shall I say is calling?”

“Miss Victoria Barr.” Vicki tried to stand up taller than she was and look older. It never worked.

“Oh, yes, Miss Barr, you are expected.”

She gave the butler her coat and followed him from the entrance hall, past a formal high-ceilinged living room, and into a big, sunny sitting room. It was cheerful in here, with flowered chintzes, green plants, and several extraordinarily beautiful parakeets in cages shaped like pagodas and dollhouses. Vicki exclaimed aloud “Oh! Lovely!”—without meaning to, just as the butler announced her.

Mrs. Bryant was sitting half hidden in an immense wing chair. She put aside the needlepoint she was working on and made a point of getting up to greet her young guest.

“How nice to see you again, Miss Barr. You were so busy yesterday on your plane that there was almost no chance to visit with you.”

“I kept you busy, for one thing,” Mr. Bryant said. “A tiresome old codger, wasn’t I, young lady?”

Vicki smiled shyly, and said Mr. and Mrs. Bryant were kind to let her come. She asked Mr. Bryant how he was feeling.

“Better, thanks, better. Oh, I’m perfectly all right!” He started to pace up and down.

Mrs. Bryant changed the subject. She invited Vicki to sit next to her on the couch in the winter sunshine, and they chatted about the Electra. Mr. Bryant joined in with a question or two. He seemed less forbidding today. Still, Vicki thought, this imposing man would probably never be easy to get along with. She’d as soon attempt to be friends with a polar bear—he reminded her of an old, still powerful bear with his heavy, rolling gait and thatch of yellowish-white hair. “Where’s Dorn?” he demanded. “Not here yet?”

His wife said, “Mr. Dorn telephoned to say he will be a little late. It was unavoidable, dear.”

“Humph. Well, I’ll lie down again for a few minutes. Excuse me, ladies.” He abruptly thumped out of the room.

Mrs. Bryant waited until he was out of earshot, then smiled at Vicki.

“When I invited you to lunch yesterday, Miss Barr,” said Mrs. Bryant, “I thought you would be our only guest. But this morning a young lawyer who is doing a particularly important piece of work for us telephoned and asked whether he couldn’t see us about noon today. So he’ll be here for lunch, too. I’m sure you and I will have our visit, anyway.”

Vicki was a little disappointed, and offered to leave rather than intrude.

“No, indeed!” Mrs. Bryant exclaimed. “I want you to stay. Mr. Dorn is going to tell us about Lucy—our granddaughter whom we’ve never seen.” She looked very thoughtful. “Does that seem odd to you?”

Vicki was not quite sure what to answer. “Unless,” she said, “your granddaughter has always lived at a great distance from you.”

“Yes, she has. In every sense. Tell me, Miss Barr, in the course of your stewardess work are you ever in San Francisco?”

“I’ll be in and out of San Francisco all the time, now that I’m based there.” “That’s extremely interesting.” But Mrs. Bryant did not say why. “Well. Shall we look at my parakeets?”

Vicki walked along with Mrs. Bryant and admired the exquisite birds in their cages. Her elderly hostess pointed out the birds’ markings in every tone of blue and rose and green. Yet her mind seemed to be on something else.

“I hope you won’t find it tiresome at lunch, Vicki, listening to a conversation about a girl you know nothing about.”

“What is Lucy like?” Vicki asked.

Mrs. Bryant said helplessly, “I don’t know. It is odd, isn’t it? Our daughter’s daughter, and we don’t even know what she looks like. Except for an old snapshot. Lucy was ten when it was taken, and she’s twenty-one now.”

From a desk drawer Mrs. Bryant took a small, faded snapshot, in a frame, and handed it to Vicki. Vicki studied it. The little girl’s face was rather blurred. She could have been any little girl sitting on a porch step. Her hair was either dark blond or light brown; it was hard to tell which.

“I suppose Lucy’s hair might be darker by now,” said Mrs. Bryant, as Vicki gave her back the snapshot. “Our daughter Eleanor wrote in one of her rare letters that Lucy had my disposition. They named her Lucy after me, in spite of—everything. But I must be boring you.”

“I’m very much interested, Mrs. Bryant.”

“Well, I am rather keyed up about Mr. Dorn’s visit. So many old memories come to mind today. The silver rings, for one thing. I hadn’t thought about them in years. There are only two like them. Lucy has one and I have the other.”

Vicki glanced at Mrs. Bryant’s hand. Her hostess noticed.

“No, I’ve put mine away. I never wear rings of any kind,” Mrs. Bryant said. “They annoy me. But this pair of silver rings has an interesting history.”

They had an identical lacelike, open design. Mrs. Bryant had long ago given one ring to her daughter Eleanor, and Eleanor in turn had given the ring to her daughter, young Lucy.

“Almost all Mr. Bryant and I know about our granddaughter is that she has the ring. We had a few facts about her schooling and a sketchy description of her. Eleanor wrote us those things before she died.” Mrs. Bryant looked down at her tightly clasped hands. “As for the letters from Lucy’s father—” Mrs. Bryant stared past Vicki, past the birds. “We never answered certain of those letters and we were wrong. So terribly wrong!”

Then the whole grievous story of Lucy came tumbling out. Mrs. Bryant, in telling Vicki, tried hard not to blame her husband. But Vicki understood that Marshall Bryant was a man who valued money and important connections above all else. Mrs. Bryant could not cope with his domineering ways.

The Bryants had planned a brilliant marriage for their only child. They were bitterly disappointed when Eleanor married against their wishes a boy who had little money and limited education. They felt, unjustly, that Jack was a fortune hunter. Marshall Bryant made several attempts to break up the marriage. When he failed, he disowned his daughter. He was determined that Jack Rowe should never get hold of the Bryant money, no matter what the penalty to Eleanor or to any children Eleanor would have.

The young couple moved to California “—to get as far away from us as possible, I suppose,” said Mrs. Bryant, and also because Jack had job opportunities there. As for Jack’s family, they were scattered over the United States and were not in touch.

The young couple made several overtures to the Bryants, especially after their daughter was born. They named her Lucy after her grandmother. But the old couple refused any reconciliation. They never saw their granddaughter. “I wanted to, but Mr. Bryant was adamant. No one can blame Eleanor and Jack for feeling resentful.” A rupture and silence of many years ensued. Once Mrs. Bryant wrote to her daughter, offering aid for small Lucy, but Eleanor never answered.

When young Lucy’s mother died a few years ago, her father wrote this news to the grandparents and asked if they wished to attend the funeral. Marshall Bryant decided that they would not go. Mrs. Bryant murmured, “It was hard to lose Eleanor without ever seeing her again.” Jack Rowe had suggested that the Bryants might, at long last, wish to see their granddaughter. But Marshall Bryant hinted that Rowe’s motive was a desire to gain their fortune. Young Lucy’s father, as a result, felt freshly antagonized, and wrote them a bitter letter. Once more the two families ceased to communicate.

Recently, within the past year, Marshall Bryant had developed a severe heart condition. “He’s still active,” said Mrs. Bryant, “but he may not have long to live. This knowledge has—has modified his personality. He is more concerned than ever about what will become of his fortune after he and I pass away. I am afraid he is not a charitable enough man to leave the bulk of it to institutions for—as he says—strangers to enjoy. Also, he now feels great remorse for disowning Eleanor, and for refusing any contact with her daughter.”

As for herself, Mrs. Bryant said, she had grieved for years about the family rupture. For a long time she encouraged Marshall Bryant to make amends for the past. Finally, this past Christmas Day, they decided to find their granddaughter, Lucy Rowe, and arrange for her to inherit the Bryant fortune.

“If Lucy wishes to live with us, we’d be so happy.”

“I’m so glad,” Vicki said softly, “that you’re trying to find her.”

“You’re right to say ‘trying,’ because all we definitely know about her is her last address in San Francisco. That’s the one on Jack Rowe’s letter five years ago.” For a moment Mrs. Bryant closed her eyes. Then she said matter-of-factly, “A five-year-old address and an old snapshot aren’t much to go on, are they? That’s why were relying on Mr. Dorn to locate Lucy for us.”

Mrs. Bryant explained that she and her husband were too elderly, and he too ill, to travel to San Francisco and search for the girl themselves. Also, Mrs. Bryant said, they hesitated to approach Lucy directly, either in person or by mail. “After all the antagonism which my husband—and I, too—showed them, Eleanor and Jack naturally felt antagonistic toward us. I’m afraid some of that feeling may have been instilled in Lucy. She might not be glad to see her grandparents.”

So Marshall Bryant had engaged his law firm to locate young Lucy and bring her East. He planned to transfer a generous part of the inheritance to her immediately. The law firm assigned Thurman Dorn, a young man, to do the traveling and investigating involved in finding Lucy. Mr. Bryant was pleased with the choice. Though Thurman Dorn was relatively new in the firm, his uncle, now dead, had for many years done fine work for Mr. Bryant through the same law firm.

“My husband and I feel we know young Thurman Dorn,” said Mrs. Bryant. “Our lawyers have told us that he came from Chicago, his home town, with the highest recommendation from one of his law school professors.” She mentioned the name of the law firm, Steele and Wilbur. Vicki recognized it as a respected company. “Mr. Dorn has persuaded us to stay entirely in the background and to let him act as intermediary with Lucy. I do think that’s the most discreet way in such a delicate situation.”

A painful situation for a sick man and his elderly wife, Vicki thought. She said, “I do hope Mr. Dorn’s search will be successful in every way.”

“Thank you, my dear. Mr. Dorn was in San Francisco three or four weeks ago, and got his search for Lucy under way. Unfortunately he could not find her on that trip—she has been away—but perhaps he has some other leads or news to tell us about today.”

“Oh! Do you think he’ll bring Lucy with him?”

Mrs. Bryant smiled shakily. “I’m afraid to hope for so much. Let’s go find my husband. He’s feeling anxious, too.”

When Thurman Dorn arrived a few minutes later, he was alone. Vicki was impressed by his air of professional competence, and by his personal dignity. He was about twenty-seven, a formal, cool young man, evidently highly educated, very correct in his manners and attire. His meticulously tailored gray suit, his British-looking mustache, the stiff way he stood, reminded Vicki of a fashion plate. Or perhaps of a stone statue. She wished someone less formal, less unsentimental were to bridge the gap between young Lucy Rowe and her grandparents. Well, perhaps it took someone as cool, deliberate, and as obviously hard-headed as Mr. Dorn to trace Lucy in the first place. Vicki could see how highly Marshall Bryant valued this young lawyer.

Mrs. Bryant introduced Vicki and Thurman Dorn. He said “how do you do” to her with a delightful little bow and smile, and remarked—when Mrs. Bryant said, “Vicki Barr is a flight stewardess with Federal Airlines”—that he was an air-travel enthusiast. However, he quickly turned away, and had little further to say to Vicki during lunch. She was sure that Mrs. Bryant’s mention of her work did not interest him and probably never registered with him at all.

He was busy describing to Mr. Bryant—and to Mrs. Bryant, too, though secondarily—the progress of the search for Lucy in San Francisco.

“Now, Mr. Bryant, and Mrs. Bryant, you already know that this search is not proceeding as easily and quickly as we would wish,” Thurman Dorn said. “Reaching Miss Lucy takes time and patience. So will effecting a reconciliation.”

The elderly couple listened to him, their hopes visibly rising and falling as he spoke.

“You know that I made only partial progress when, at your request, I visited San Francisco for a week, and personally conducted a search for your granddaughter.”

“I remember receiving your bills from the St. Clair Hotel,” Mr. Bryant said dryly. Young Dorn accepted this with a deferential smile. “And unfortunately I had to come back and tell you the disappointing news that by the time I had located Lucy’s present home and work addresses, she had just gone off for a trip. For, I believe, a month or more.”

Mrs. Bryant turned toward Vicki. “At least Mr. Dorn learned that Lucy has gone traveling with respectable friends, another girl and the girl’s mother.”

Mr. Bryant looked up from serving himself seconds from the dish the maid offered. “Well, sir, it’s about a month now since you’ve been out there. You say Lucy will be back in San Francisco soon. How soon can you go out there again, and get on with this job?”

“Very soon, I hope, sir,” Dorn said. “Although it would be a waste of my time and your money to wait around San Francisco until Miss Lucy returns.”

“Don’t see how a girl who you say is a secretary can afford to stay away longer than a month,” Marshall Bryant grumbled. “Dorn, are you certain that this Lucy Rowe is actually our granddaughter?”

“No, I’m not certain. It’s only a reasonable presumption at this point, Mr. Bryant. Let me actually see and talk to the girl. I want to question her—yes, discreetly—about certain particulars of the Bryant family history, which she would be likely to know. I want to see whether she has any of your old letters, or photographs of yourselves or your daughter Eleanor. That brings me to my reason, or one of the reasons, for asking you to let me come today.”

“The name Lucy Rowe isn’t so unusual,” Mr. Bryant interrupted. “Might be more than one girl by that name in a city as large as San Francisco.”

“Exactly my view, too, sir,” said Mr. Dorn. “You have told me many details of the family history and shown me documents, but a few questions occur to me. Also, it would help in proving this Lucy Rowe’s identity if you could let me really study those documents, and study any letters in your daughter Eleanor’s handwriting or any family photographs. If you happen to have any available that I could examine, say, overnight—or for a few hours this afternoon—”

“Good idea,” said Marshall Bryant. “Plenty of those things in the safe, right here in the house. I’ll lend them to you overnight or for a day or two. Whatever you say.”

“That will be a help,” said Mr. Dorn. “I’ll return them to you promptly.”

One thing puzzled Vicki. Why had no one at the luncheon table mentioned Jack Rowe, the girl’s father? She murmured her question to Mrs. Bryant.

“Because Lucy’s father died two years ago in an auto accident,” Mrs. Bryant answered her. “Lucy did not write and tell us. Lucy has never written to us, except one or two Christmas letters when she was a child—which my husband asked me not to answer.” Mrs. Bryant sighed. “So we had no way of knowing about Jack until Mr. Dorn investigated and reported to us about three weeks ago. I’m sorry about Jack, if only because his passing has left Lucy entirely alone in the world.”

“She has you and her grandfather,” Vicki said.

“If we can find her, and if she can forget old difficulties. However”—the elderly woman brightened—“on the basis of what he’s already learned, Mr. Dorn is hopeful that everything will work out well.” Then she said, “Oh, Mr. Dorn! Didn’t you say you had some further word about Lucy?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bryant. I’ve had a letter from one of her friends whom I was unable to meet in person. Her friend writes that Lucy is an accomplished swimmer and horsewoman. You know how Californians go in for sports and outdoor living. Her friend also wrote my firm—sorry I forgot to bring the letter—that Miss Lucy is fond of birds and knows something about them.”

“She’ll be interested in your parakeets,” Mr. Bryant said to his wife, “and she’ll enjoy the swimming pool.”

“Let’s hope so. We old people might be dull company for her. She sounds like a delightful girl, Mr. Dorn.”

The lawyer said, “From everything I’ve learned so far, she sounds like a charming girl, and a girl of considerable character.”

Marshall Bryant looked gratified, while his wife looked so eager that Vicki felt almost afraid for her. How every detail which Mr. Dorn was able to supply increased their desire to meet their granddaughter! How disappointed they would be if Lucy were not all they wanted her to be, or if—Heaven forbid—Dorn could not locate their granddaughter after all.

As they were rising from the dining table Mrs. Bryant reminded the lawyer about the silver ring. “If you want another look at it, it’s in the safe, too.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bryant. I will examine it again. It will be interesting to learn whether Lucy Rowe still has the silver ring which is twin to yours.”

“Now, young man, how soon are you going back to San Francisco?” Mr. Bryant pressed him. “How about this week?”

The lawyer was inclined to wait until the next week, in order to be sure that Lucy Rowe was back in San Francisco. He offered to telegraph her employers and friends there to learn if and when she had returned. This was reasonable, the Bryants had to agree, but they were disappointed about the delay.

“I am sorry about the delay, too,” said the lawyer, “but let us make haste slowly. Let’s be a little cautious and discreet. There is a large inheritance involved here, you are well known, and if any false moves were made, they’d invite a lot of publicity—newspaper stories, pictures in the paper, and so forth.” Mr. Bryant made a gesture of distaste, while Mrs. Bryant pretended to shudder. There was a moment’s awkwardness. The lawyer turned to Vicki and said:

“I understand that you—ah—were of service to Mr. Bryant yesterday when he was taken ill.”

“Not at all,” said Vicki. “I’m just sorry Mr. Bryant didn’t feel well enough to enjoy his flight on the Electra. Mr. Dorn, when you fly out to the West Coast do you go on the Electra, via Chicago?”

She said it only to make conversation, thinking someday Dorn might be one of her passengers. But suddenly his expression changed. She was surprised at the odd look on his face. Was he thinking of something else?

Mrs. Bryant said, “I believe, Mr. Dorn, you told us your mother still lives in Chicago?”

“Yes, I sometimes go home week ends to see her. Very occasionally.”

“Of course. Well—I think my husband is waiting to see you.”

“Oh, yes. Will you excuse me, Mrs. Bryant? Miss—ah—” He had forgotten her name. The young lawyer followed Mr. Bryant into the library.

Vicki felt that it was time to say good-by to her hostess. But Mrs. Bryant led her back into the room with the parakeets. By now the sun had moved to the far end of the room, and the birds were asleep. Mrs. Bryant took Vicki’s hand. “I hope all this talk about our granddaughter wasn’t dull for you.”

“On the contrary, Mrs. Bryant! I couldn’t help thinking ‘Suppose it were my grandparents whom I’d never seen, who were looking for me—’”

“You’re sympathetic, Vicki. I wonder—You’re going to be in San Francisco often?” Vicki nodded. “Then I wonder whether I could ask you to do me a great favor—but only if it won’t take too much of your time.”

Vicki said, and meant it, that if the favor had anything to do with Lucy, she would be only too happy to give it her free time.

Mrs. Bryant smiled. “Then I wish very much that you’d see whether you can learn anything further about our granddaughter. While I have every confidence in Mr. Dorn and his careful, discreet approach, this delay is very hard. Even another week or ten days seem such a long time to wait.”

“I’ll be in San Francisco day after tomorrow,” Vicki said.

“Wonderful. If Lucy is back by then, won’t you try to telephone her and give her my love? All I have is her last address in Sutro Heights in the suburbs, it’s five years old—I think Mr. Dorn mentioned that she had moved in with friends in the city, in order to be nearer her place of employment. I wish I had thought to write down that firm name, but we are leaving everything, all the details, to Mr. Dorn.” “Do you think Mr. Dorn will consider that I’m interfering? I wouldn’t want to cause any—any complications for him.”

“I don’t see how you could.” Mrs. Bryant went to her desk for Lucy’s last address, and copied it for Vicki. “It might be more tactful, though, not to let Mr. Dorn know that you are taking part.” Vicki agreed. “And let’s not mention it to my husband, either,” Mrs. Bryant said with a gleam of mischief. “Here’s the address, my dear. Thank you very, very much.”

“Don’t say that yet, Mrs. Bryant. First, let’s see what I can do.”

She thanked Mrs. Bryant for her hospitality, and said good-by. Mrs. Bryant walked to the front door with Vicki, and stood looking after her as she went down the marble steps. She looked so hopeful and yet afraid to hope that Vicki thought:

“I’m going to do everything I can to help those two old people.”