When they had finished their supper Linda gathered up the
remnants and put them in the car, then she laid a notebook and
pencil on the table.

"Now I want to hear that article," she said. "I knew you would
do it over the minute I was gone, and I knew you would keep it to
read to me before you sent it."

"Hm," said Peter. "Is it second sight or psychoanalysis or
telepathy, or what?"

"Mostly 'what'," laughed Linda. "I merely knew. The workmen are
gone and everything is quiet now, Peter. Begin. I am crazy to
get the particular angle from which you 'make the world safe for
democracy.' John used to call our attention to your articles
during the war. He said we had not sent another man to France
who could write as humanely and as interestingly as you did. I
wish I had kept those articles; because I didn't get anything
from them to compare with what I can get since I have a slight
acquaintance with the procession that marches around your mouth.
Peter, you will have to watch that mouth of yours. It's an
awfully betraying feature. So long as it's occupied with
politics and the fads and the foibles and the sins and the
foolishness and the extravagances of humanity, it's all very
well. But if you ever get in trouble or if ever your heart
hurts, or you get mad enough to kill somebody, that mouth of
yours is going to be a most awfully revealing feature, Peter.
You will have hard work to settle it down into hard-and-fast
noncommittal lines."