“No, I don’t think I shall,” Larry said thoughtfully. “Not for a while, at least. Putting national defense out of the question, Leslie,”—he spoke as eagerly as Bob—“think of the commerce of the future—think of forest fires discovered and fought from the air; you don’t know what that means in America! and explorations made without tracking through the wilderness. It’s a new world open. We’ll explore it together, Bob.”
“Poor Jourdin,” Bob said, half under his breath. “How he could fly! I wish he might have lived to see the victory.”
In another week General and Mrs. Gordon arrived from Coblenz, and the Leslie and Gordon families indulged in unrestrained rejoicing. The entertainments planned by Janet and Alan began to unfold, welcome enough, though Lucy thought nothing could much improve on the lovely rides and country saunterings of every day. Larry took all the time he could spare—and more than he could—from his studies. Again and again he and Lucy, Bob, Michelle, Alan, Janet and Marian walked miles along the country roads and through the summer woodland to lunch at some wayside inn, on eggs and buttered scones, strawberry jam and clotted cream that tasted better than anything in the world with the scent of flowering clover and ripening fruit around them.
At last came the night of the dance postponed until General and Mrs. Gordon’s arrival. Bob practiced dancing a little with Lucy and Marian beforehand, to make sure his stiff leg would still do its duty, and Alan taught Michelle the one-step with triumphant success.
The night of the dance was so warm that the whole house was thrown open and from inside one looked out on gardens and lawns stretching to woodland, bright as day beneath the moonlight-flooded heavens.
Lucy, Michelle, Janet and Marian began dressing each in her own room, but at the end of half an hour they had gathered in Lucy’s room and, under pretense of helping one another, were doing more talking than anything else. Janet, naturally prompt and ready long before the rest, sat on Lucy’s bed and surveyed the three before her—Lucy first, the favorite in her loyal heart.
Lucy had not the beauty of either Michelle or Marian. She had not Marian’s golden curls and porcelain skin, nor Michelle’s deep blue eyes and fine features. But there was something about her face that held Janet’s thoughtful gaze. “I love to look at Lucy’s face,” the English girl told herself.
Lucy had grown up in two years. Her childhood had vanished, though the frank unconsciousness of look and manner lingered. Her corn-colored hair—always so hard to keep in order—was brushed back and pinned above her neck, her hazel eyes shone with the clear brightness of the merry, generous soul within. Her cheeks were fuller now, after two weeks of English country life, and a warm color glowed beneath their tan. Her slight figure was filled with life and quickness, the awkwardness of her little girlhood past. The hard lessons learned overseas had done her no harm: she looked the world full in the face, hopefully, confidently, expecting the kindness and affection she gave so prodigally.
Janet, still watching her, thought to herself, “I know what Larry Eaton meant when he said Lucy was such good company. She’s good company for bad days or for good to laugh with you or to help you along. You could count on her every time.”