Evelyn threw up her hands in desperation.
“You’re just as bad as Jessie, Lucy,” she accused. “I’m going in and see if I can’t find peace. The boys ought to be up by this time,” she added, slyly.
The girls laughed as the door slammed behind her, and Lucile exclaimed, with a little flourish of her comb, “Come on, Jess; I’m ready for the fray.” And, with arms about each other, girl fashion, they followed Evelyn into the aisle.
How could they know on that morning, when their hearts were full and their heads light with the heady wine of Spring, that before three months had sped, they would feel the strands of the mighty web of nations tighten about them; that they would see the beginning of the greatest war the world has ever known? Perhaps it was just as well that they were not gifted with prophecy, for the grim shadow of war that hung menacingly over all Europe would have darkened this bright morning and would have tinted all the hills and countryside with the grayish hue of impending disaster.
As it was, there was no cloud to darken the horizon of their exuberant happiness and they gave full rein to their high spirits.
As Evelyn had said, the boys were up when they returned, and they were not the only ones, for the train seemed suddenly to have come to life. Voices called merrily to each other from different points in the car, and 68 everywhere was the stir and bustle of awakened and refreshed humanity.
As Lucile and Jessie made their way through the car, they encountered several women, apparently bound for the dressing-room.
“It’s good we got there early,” said Lucile. “If we hadn’t, we never would have gotten a chance at the mirror.”
“You’re just right,” laughed Jessie. “There wasn’t room enough for three of us, let alone a half a dozen.”
A moment later they joined a group of their own folks at the other end of the car. They flung a merry greeting.