thy always
interpreted into forgiveness for her lapses, past, present and to come.

"You see, mother, John Dene has got it into his head that we're
hopelessly out of date," she said. "He's quite sincere. He thinks
we're fools, Sir Lyster, Sir Bridgman and the whole lot of us, and as
for poor Mr. Blair, he knows he's a fool. He thinks that Mr. Llewellyn
John is almost a fool, in fact he's sure in his own mind that unless
you happen to be born a Canadian you're a fool and can't help it. He's
quite nice about it, because it really isn't your fault."

"I'm afraid he must be very narrow-minded," said Mrs. West gently.

"No, he isn't, that's where it's so funny, it's just his idea. He
looks upon himself as a heaven-sent corrective to the British
Government. I'm afraid poor John Dene is going to have a nasty jar
before he's through, as he would say himself."

"How do you mean, Dorothy?" enquired Mrs. West.

"I mustn't say any more, because I should be divulging official
secrets. The other girls are so curious to know what is happening.
Bishy, that's Miss Bishcroft, asked me whether John Dene made love to
me, and Rojjie is sure that he kisses me." Dorothy rippled off into
laughter.

"How impertinent of her!" Mrs. West was shocked.

"It wasn't impertinence, mother, it was funny. If you could only see
John Dene, and imagine him making love to anyone. It really is funny.
Sometimes I sit and wonder if he knows how to kiss a girl."

"Dorothy, you are----" began Mrs. West.

"Why shouldn't we be frank and open about such matters? Every man
kisses a girl at some time during his life, except John Dene," she
added. "In Whitehall it's nothing but minutes and kisses. Why
shouldn't we talk about it? It's helping to win the war. It's so
silly to hide everything in that silly Victorian way of ours. If a
nice girl meets a nice man she wants him to kiss her, and she's
disappointed if he doesn't. Now isn't she?" challenged Dorothy as she
perched herself upon the arm of her mother's chair and looked down at
her, her eyebrows and mouth screwed up, impertinent and provocative.

"I wish you wouldn't talk like that, dear," said Mrs. West, as she
regarded her daughter's pretty features.

"Why, mother?" she enquired, bending and brushing a swift kiss upon her
mother's white hair.

"It--it doesn't seem----" she paused, then added rather weakly, "it
doesn't seem quite nice."

Dorothy jumped up and stood before her mother