as a special constable. In his spare time
he lived for golf. Lindon, his only son, was exactly like him, even to
the habit of whistling and the propensity for golf. With Lindon,
however, shells at the present were doing the whistling, and the
trenches took the place of bunkers. His photograph in khaki stood in a
silver frame on the drawing-room mantelpiece.

The three girls--Elsie, Betty, and Vivien--were shaded varieties of
their mother. When Lorraine counted up her blessings, she always placed
Rosemary and Monica as special items. She did not get on with her
cousins.

"I like Uncle Barton and Lindon," she decided. "You never hear them say
a nasty thing about anybody. It's the girls who pick holes in everyone
and everything."

The attitude of the female portion of the family at The Firs was
fiercely critical. It might be amusing to themselves, but it was
uncomfortable for other people. Lorraine, visiting there in a new dress,
literally squirmed when she felt eyes of inspection directed upon it. It
was the same with accomplishments. Both she and Rosemary dreaded to play
or sing at The Firs. The chilly "Thank you!" at the end of the
performance hurt more than brickbats. The Barton Forresters were always
urging on the George Forresters. They started on the assumption that, as
a family, they were more clever, capable, and up-to-date, and therefore
in a position to give good advice. Elsie, recently engaged to a naval
officer, considered that she had scored over Rosemary, who was six
months older and still unappropriated. Betty rubbed in her indispensable
work at the Red Cross Hospital with comments on those slackers who
shirked giving their fair share of help. Vivien's sharp tongue was
Lorraine's chief thorn in the flesh at The Gables.

The fact that Vivien was her cousin made things extremely difficult for
Lorraine. She could have done battle royal with a stranger, and fought
things out in the lists at school and have finished with them. But to
quarrel with Vivien was another matter. It meant also quarrelling with
Aunt Carrie, Elsie, and Betty, who would take affairs to the tribunal of
Pendlehurst and raise a domestic sandstorm.

Long before, when they were quite children, the two girls had
quarrelled, and Aunt Carrie had solemnly, and quite unjustifiably,
complained to her brother-in-law about Lorraine's conduct. Lorraine had
never forgiven her father for not taking her part more firmly on that
occasion. The remembr