Lily sat. "Certainly, if you want. My father made that money building sewers with one hand and playing politics with the other." She picked up her coffee cup and sipped. "Since you can afford to donate your time, I suppose your father knows how to make money too."

"Yes, he did." She closed her bag with the check inside. "Not building sewers, real estate. He died six years ago."

"In New York?"

"No, Wisconsin."

"Oh. Omaha?"

Lily was showing me how smart she was. We had driven across Nebraska on the way to Montana. Miss Brooke politely didn't smile. "No, Racine," she said.

Lily sipped coffee. "I suppose I'm being nosy, but to me it's-well, you're fascinating. I'm not lazy or stingy, I'm merely useless. I simply don't understand you. Do you mind if I try to?"

"No, of course not." She tapped her bag. "Your money isn't useless, Miss Rowan."

Lily flipped a hand. "Tax-deductible. But your time and energy aren't. Have you been doing this ever since you came to New York?"

"Oh no. Only two years-a little more. There's nothing fascinating about me, believe me. When I finished college-I barely made it, I'm Radcliffe 'fifty-nine-I went home to Racine and got good and bored. Then something happened, and-Anyway, my father was dead and only my mother and me in a big house, and we came to New York. My brother was here and he suggested it. But you didn't ask for my autobiography."

"Yes, I did. Practically. You live with your brother?"

She shook her head. "We did for a while, but then we took an apartment-my mother and I. And I got a job." She put her empty cup down, and I got up and filled it. I was glad of the chance to contribute something.