we have dinner." Margaret presently followed her mother into the
kitchen, stopping in a crowded passageway to tie an apron over her
school gown.

"Bruce come in yet?" she said in a low voice.

Her mother flashed her a sympathetic look.

"I don't believe he's coming, Mark."

"Isn't! Oh, Mother! Oh, Mother, does he feel so badly about Betty?"

"I suppose so!" Mrs. Paget went on with her bread cutting.

"But, Mother, surely he didn't expect to marry Betty Forsythe?"

"I don't know why not, Mark. She's a sweet little thing."

"But, Mother--" Margaret was a little at a loss. "We don't seem old
enough to really be getting married!" she said, a little lamely.

"Brucie came in about half-past five, and said he was going over to
Richie's," Mrs. Paget said, with a sigh.

"In all this rain--that long walk!" Margaret ejaculated, as she filled
a long wicker basket with sliced bread.

"I think an evening of work with Richie will do him a world of good,"
said his mother. There was a pause. "There's Dad. I'll go in," she
said, suddenly ending it, as the front door slammed.