They're not
going to be nuns all their lives!"

Again her sister cut her off, and the rest of the brief evening was
decidedly awkward. Yes, she was changing, growing fast. And Roger did not
like it. Here she was spending money like water, absorbed in her pleasures,
having no baby, apparently at loose ends with her husband, and through it
all so cocksure of herself and her outrageous views about war, and smiling
about them with such an air, and in her whole manner, such a tone of amused
superiority. She talked about a world for the strong, bits of gabble from
Nietzsche and that sort of rot; she spoke blithely of a Rome reborn, the
"Wings of the Eagles" heard again. This part of it she had taken, no doubt,
from her new Italian friend, her husband's shrapnel partner.

Pshaw! What was Laura up to?

But that was only one evening. It was not repeated, another month went
quickly by, and Roger had soon shaken it from him, for he had troubles
enough at home. One daughter at a time, he had thought. And as the dark
clouds close above him had cleared, the other cloud too had drifted away,
until it was small, just on the horizon, far away from Roger's house. What
was Laura up to? He barely ever thought of that now.

* * * * *

But one night when he came home, Edith, who sat in the living room reading
aloud to her smaller boys, gave him a significant look which warned him
something had happened. And turning to take off his overcoat, in the hall
he almost stumbled upon a pile of hand luggage, two smart patent leather
bags, a hat trunk and a sable cloak.

"Hello," he exclaimed. "What's this? Who's here?"

"Laura," Edith answered. "She's up in Deborah's room, I think--they've been
up there for over an hour." Roger looked indignantly in at his daughter.

"What has happened?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you," Edith replied. "They didn't seem to need me.
They made it rather plain, in fact. Another quarrel, I presume. She came
into the house like a whirlwind, asked at once for Deborah and flew up to
Deborah's room."

"Pshaw!" Roger heavily mounted the stairs. He at least did not feel like
flying. A whirlwind, eh--a nice evening ahead!

* * * * *

Meanwhile, in her room upstairs Deborah sat motionless, sternly holding her
feelings down, while in a tone now kindly but more often full of a sharp
dismay, she threw out question after question to Laura who was walk