"My poor dear, so you have been eating Margaret's puddings. Weren't they good ones?"
"Oh, perfection! But I wasn't thinking of Margaret."
"I know you weren't. For your mother's sake I wish that you were."
His face looked suddenly tired. "Margaret is perfection, I know; but I feel sometimes that only perfect people can endure perfection."
"Yes, I know." Her smile had faded now. "I admire Margaret tremendously, but I feel closer to Patty."
"Perhaps. I am not sure. Somehow I have been sure of nothing since I came out of the trenches—least of all of myself. I am trying to find out now what I am in reality."
As he rose to go she held out her hand. "I think,—I am not certain, but I think," she responded gaily, "that Patty's dictionary may give you the definition."