"It has been awful here," said the Widow Weld. "Nothing to do but sew at the Red Cross shop; and no sugar or white bread."
"It must have been," agreed Elizabeth.
"They're giving a dance for you—and dinner—a week from Saturday, at the golf club. In your honour."
"Dance!" Elizabeth closed her eyes, faintly. Then, "Who is?"
"Well, Mr. Oakley's really giving it—that is, it was his idea. But the club wanted to tender some fitting—"
"I won't go."
"Oh, yes, you will."
Elizabeth did not argue the point. She had two questions to ask.
"Have the boys come back?"
"What boys?"