Naturally after two years of absence abroad, her father and mother looked forward to her returning to Washington and entering society. She was no longer young enough to plead for more time, the war was past and she had been allowed to devote herself to its service. This winter in the Adirondacks was due to a special set of circumstances, her Camp Fire guardian’s illness, her father’s long absence from Washington, and her mother’s desire to be with Mrs. Burton and her group of Camp Fire girls. In another six weeks her mother probably would join her father in the west and conclude the trip with him. She would then go back to Washington and they were looking forward to a happy summer together in their own cottage by the Blue Lagoon. So far Bettina knew nothing save happiness in the prospect before her, but after the summer, her mother had been planning this very afternoon a brilliant winter in Washington society. Why could she not feel the interest that any other normal girl in the world would feel in such a future, with a successful marriage as its climax? Yet Bettina knew she only dreaded it with an even deeper antagonism than she had felt in the past. If only she and her brother, Tony, might have changed places? Tony was as strikingly handsome as their mother was beautiful and possessed her social grace and charm of manner. Bettina believed she had neither; it was not merely a matter of appearance; there were persons who thought her reasonably good looking in her own fashion. Besides, she and her Camp Fire guardian had discussed the subject many times, and she herself had witnessed in Mrs. Burton a triumph of personality which always transcends mere physical beauty. Her own distaste was a far more important factor. In the midst of a group of society people Bettina knew she always was obliged to fight a sense of awkwardness, of shyness, and that she had no conversation and no animation. She could only prove a disappointment to her mother, and yet was it not fair that she should make the experiment? Against her own judgment and desire, her mother had allowed her the past two years of freedom in her Camp Fire life. Bettina was skating more rapidly than at first, and without her knowledge her depression was fading. The cold air stung her cheeks, but her blood flowed warmly; this portion of the lake was smooth as glass. Finally a smile appeared at the corners of her lips. Perhaps she was taking herself and her own future too seriously, as this was one of the faults of her character. Moreover, doubtless she was spoiled. Never had she to contend against real difficulties such as many other girls face. Marguerite Arnot, for instance, friendless and oftentimes ill, for years had been forced to earn her own living. If at this instant Bettina could only have beheld herself with other eyes she would have appreciated her own good fortune more keenly.