"Yes," answered Phoebe, "I think it would be lovely, but you and Caroline
drive down and I will walk in with David, I think. Ready, David?" And
Phoebe gathered up her muff and gloves and gave her hand to the major.

"David," she said after they had reached the street and were swinging
along in the early twilight; and as she spoke she looked him full in the
face with her gray level glance that counted whenever she chose to use
it, "is it your idea--do you think it fair to ridicule Mildred about--the
babies?"

"Why," answered the completely floored Kildare, "I just haven't any idea
on the subject. Everybody was laughing about it--and isn't it--er--a
little funny?"

"No," answered Phoebe emphatically, "it isn't _funny_ and if you begin to
laugh everybody else will. It may hurt Milly, she is so gentle and dear,
and you are their best friend. I won't have it! I won't! I'm tired,
anyway, of having fun made of all the sacred things in life. All of us
swing around in a silly whirl and when a woman like Mildred begins to
live her life in a--er--natural way, we--ridicule! She is brave and
strong and works hard; and she has the _real_ things of life and makes
the sacrifices for them. While we--"

"Oh, heavenly hope, Phoebe!" gasped David Kildare, "don't rub it in! I
see it now--a lot of magazine stuff jogging the women up about the kids
and all--and here Milly is a hero and we--the jolly fun-pokers. I've got
to help 'em some way! Wish Billy Bob would sell me this last bunch; guess
he would--one, anyway?" And the contrite David gazed down at Phoebe in
whose upturned eyes there dawned a wealth of mirth.