the chimney. Nan stretched out her hand for the matches and lit a
cigarette. Then she blew a cloud of speculative smoke into the air.

"I don't know," she said slowly. Adding whimsically: "I believe that's
the root of the trouble."

Penelope regarded her critically.

"I'll tell you what's the matter," she returned. "During the war you
lived on excitement--"

"I worked jolly hard," interpolated Nan indignantly.

The other's eyes softened.

"I know you worked," she said quickly. "Like a brick. But all the same
you did live on excitement--narrow shaves of death during air-raids,
dances galore, and beautiful boys in khaki, home on leave in convenient
rotation, to take you anywhere and everywhere. You felt you were working
for them and they knew they were fighting for you, and the whole four
years was just one pulsing, throbbing rush. Oh, I know! You were caught
up into it just the same as the rest of the world, and now that it's over
and normal existence is feebly struggling up to the surface again, you're
all to pieces, hugely dissatisfied, like everyone else."

"At least I'm in the fashion, then!"

Penelope smiled briefly.

"Small credit to you if you are," she retorted. "People are simply