f the questions
which perplexed her she would have liked to ask her mother, but in
spite of their charming intimacy she could not bring herself to speak
of them. She wished she had a friend with a lover, and could talk it
all over with her, but although she had girl friends, none of them had
lovers, and to have one herself made her feel much older than any of
them.

So Betty thought matters out for herself. Of course she liked Peter
Junior--she had always liked him--and he was masterful--and she had
always known she would marry a soldier--and one who had been wounded
and been brave--that was the kind of a soldier to love. But she was
more subdued than usual and sewed steadily on gingham aprons for
Janey, making the buttonholes and binding them about the neck with
contrasting stuff.

"Anyway, I'm glad there is no picnic to-day. The boys may eat up the
cookies, and I didn't get the cake made after all," she said to her
mother, as she lingered a moment in the kitchen and looked out of the
window at the pouring rain. But she did not see the rain; she saw
again a gray-clad youth limping down the path between the lilacs and
away along the grassy roadside.

Well, what if she had said yes? It was all as it should be, according
to her dreams, only--only--he had not allowed her to say what she had
meant to say. She wished her mother had not happened to come just then
before she could explain to Peter Junior; that it was "yes" only if
when he came back he still wanted her and still loved her, and was
sure he had not made a mistake about it. It was often so in books. Men
went away, and when they returned, they found they no longer loved
their sweethearts. If such a terrible thing should happen to her! Oh,
dear! Or maybe he would be too honorable to say he no longer loved
her, and would marry her in spite of it; and she would find out
afterward, when it was too late, that he loved some one else; that
would be very terrible, and they would be miserable all their lives.

"I don't think I would let the boys eat up the cookies, dear; it may
clear off by sundown, and be fine to-morrow, and they'll be all as
glad as to go to-day. You make your cake."

"But Martha's coming home to-morrow night, and I'd rather wait now
until Saturday; that will be only one day longer, and it will be more
fun with her along." Betty spoke brightly and tried to make herself
feel that no momentous thing had happened. She hated the constraint of
it. "By t