Barbara Thornton stood at the window of her little drawing-room in New York City looking over toward Central Park. It was a charming room and this afternoon was filled with flowers sent from her mother-in-law’s country place on Long Island. Perhaps as an expression of his patriotism, the gardener had cut only red, white and blue flowers, for among the white and red of the fragrant roses were tall stalks of deep, blue-starred delphiniums.…
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