n a long
time."

"I wanted you to get the old atmosphere. You can't get it at the Country
Club. We Bannisters have lunched up here for sixty years--older than you
are, eh?"

"Twenty years----"

"We used to call it the races, but now they tack on the Horse Show. It
was different, of course, when all the old places were owned by the old
families. But they can't change the oaks and the sweep of the hills, and
the mettle of the horses, thank God."

"I am sorry I was late," said Caroline Paine, as they settled themselves
under the trees, "but I went to town to have my hair waved."

"I wish you wouldn't, Caroline," Mrs. Beaufort told her, "your hair is
nice enough without it."

Caroline Paine took off her hat, "I couldn't get it up to look like
this, could I?"

The Judge surveyed the undulations critically. "Caroline," he said, "you
are too pretty to need it."

"I want to keep young for Randolph's sake," Mrs. Paine told him, "then
he'll like me better than any other girl."

"You needn't think you have to get your hair curled to make me love
you," said her tall son; "you are ducky enough as you are."

Major Prime, delighting in their lack of self-consciousness, made a
diplomatic contribution. "Why quarrel with such a charming coiffure?"

Mrs. Paine smiled at him, comfortably. "I feel much better," she said;
"they are always trying to hold me back."

She was a woman of ample proportions and of leisurely habit. Life had of
late hurried her a bit, but she still gave the effect of restful calm.
She was of the same generation as Aunt Claudia, and a widow. But she
wore her widowhood with a difference. She had on to-day a purple hat.
Her hair was white, her dress was white, and her shoes. She was prettier
than Aunt Claudia but she lacked her distinction of manner and of
carriage.

"They always want to hold me back when I try to be up-to-date," she
repeated.

Randy threw an acorn at her. "Nobody can hold you back, Mother," he
said, "when you get your mind on a thing. Aunt Claudia, what do you
hear from Truxton?"

"A letter came this morning," said Mrs. Beaufort, lighting up with the
thought of it. "I hadn't heard for days before that. And I was worried."

"Truxton hasn't killed himself writing letters since he went over," the
Judge asserted. "Claudia, can't we have lunch?"

"William is unpacking the hamper now, Father. And I think Truxton has
done very well. It isn't easy for the boys to find time."

"Randy wr