ng one wall--she had to screw
her neck to see it--some one had fastened up countless sheets from a
Sunday supplement--war photographs entirely. She wondered who had done
it, because what she had seen of returned soldiers had shown her that
the last thing they wanted to see or hear about was the war.

There were couches around the walls, the other chairs were lounging
chairs also. There was fishing-tackle in profusion, and a battered
phonograph on a table. It looked as if men had made themselves
comfortable there, without thinking much about looks. The only thing
against this was one small frilled chair. It was a most absurd chair,
rustic to begin with, with a pink cushion covered with white net and
ruffled, and pink ribbons anchoring another pink and net cushion at its
back. Mrs. O'Mara, hovering hospitably, saw Marjorie eying it, and
beamed proudly.

"That's Peggy's chair," she said. "Peggy's me little daughter."

"Oh, that's nice," said Marjorie. "How old is she?"

"Just a young thing," said Mrs. O'Mara. "She'll be in in a minute."

Marjorie leaned back again, her tea consumed, and rested. She was not
particularly interested in Peggy, because she was not very used to
children. She liked special ones sometimes, but as a rule she did not
quite know what to do with them. After a few sentences exchanged, and
an embarrassed embrace in which the children stiffened themselves,
children and Marjorie were apt to melt apart. She hoped Peggy wouldn't
be the kind that climbed on you and kicked you.

A wild clattering of feet aroused her from these half-drowsy
meditations.

"Here's Francis, mother! Here's Francis!" called a joyous young voice,
and Marjorie turned to see Francis, his eyes sparkling and his whole
face lighted up, dashing into the room with an arm around one of the
most beautiful girls she had ever seen, a tall, vivid creature who
might have been any age from seventeen to twenty, and who brought into
the room an atmosphere of excitement and gaiety like a wind.

"And here's Peggy!" said Francis gaily, pausing in his dash only when
he reached Marjorie's side. "She's all grown up since I went away, and
isn't she the dear of the world?"

"Oh, but so's your wife, Francis!" said Peggy naively, slipping her arm
from around his shoulder and dropping on her knees beside Marjorie.
"You don't mind if I kiss you, do you, please? And must I call her
Mrs. Ellison, Francis?"

"Peggy, child, where's your