of late hurried her a bit, but she still gave the effect of restful
calm. She was of the same generation as Aunt Claudia, and a widow.
But she wore her widowhood with a difference. She had on to-day a
purple hat. Her hair was white, her dress was white, and her shoes.
She was prettier than Aunt Claudia but she lacked her distinction of
manner and of carriage.

"They always want to hold me back when I try to be up-to-date," she
repeated.

Randy threw an acorn at her. "Nobody can hold you back, Mother," he
said, "when you get your mind on a thing. Aunt Claudia, what do you
hear from Truxton?"

"A letter came this morning," said Mrs. Beaufort, lighting up with the
thought of it. "I hadn't heard for days before that. And I was
worried."

"Truxton hasn't killed himself writing letters since he went over," the
Judge asserted. "Claudia, can't we have lunch?"

"William is unpacking the hamper now, Father. And I think Truxton has
done very well. It isn't easy for the boys to find time."

"Randy wrote to me every week."

"Now, Mother----"

"Well, you did."