“Mother’s a sport!” she declared. “I didn’t take her! She took herself!” She was silent a minute.... Then—slowly: “I’m not so sure I shouldn’t have backed out the last minute, you know—if mother hadn’t been so set on going!” She looked at her meditatively. “You can’t tell what mother will do!” she declared. “She does the queerest things—queer for her, I mean!” XIII The next week Annabel became flitting in her movements. She began to take an interest in her clothes, and evolved dainty, distracting gowns that made her piquant face almost beautiful. And she multiplied new ways of doing her hair—a new way for each new hat—till William Archer declared she might as well be a week-end visitor. “Don’t you like it?” she demanded. She turned her head for inspection. She had come down to luncheon in a new hat that defied description. William Archer surveyed it. “Well—it’s different! I can’t say it’s my idea of a suffragist hat!” “I’m not a suffragist,” said Annabel calmly. “How long since?” asked William Archer. “Oh—quite a while.” Eleanor was looking on with a little, amused smile. “Turncoat!” said William Archer. “I don’t care.... I’d rather be a turncoat than a—frump!” “You don’t have to be——!” “They are—most of them—!” said Annabel viciously. “Why, Annabel—!” It was Eleanor’s voice. “Some of the nicest women are suffragists. I saw some very fine ones in the parade.” Annabel turned indignant eyes on her. “I saw one there! And I hope never to see her again!” She said it severely, and the family laughed out. She nodded her head sagely under its tilting hat that came down well over one eye, and gave her a young and military look—as if she were winning her spurs. “You may laugh!” she declared. “It’s no place for mother!” “All right for you, I suppose?” suggested her father teasingly. “I told you I’d got over it,” she said firmly. “Like the measles!” said William Archer. She regarded him thoughtfully. “Something like that—you don’t have it, and you feel well—perfectly well—and then you talk with some one, or have tea or something, and you get all excited and uncomfortable——” “And break out—” said William Archer. “Yes—and see your mother walking in the middle of the street—ploughing along!” Her indignant glance was on Eleanor’s calm face. “I felt just ashamed!” she declared. “I thought mother walked rather well!” said Richard. “Yes—I was quite proud of mother!” said William Archer. “Well—I hope it’s the last time you’ll have a chance to ’be proud of mother’—that way!... I never dreamed she would do it!—What made you?” she asked. She turned an accusing look on her. “Why—I think I—caught it, perhaps,” said Eleanor. “Isn’t your hat just a little far forward, dear?” Annabel jumped up and went to the glass and adjusted the hat with conscientious touch. “It looks so simple!” she murmured. “But it really takes brains!—There—how is that?” She turned for approval, with serious, intent look.