“I should like to see her in it,” said the girl wistfully. “I never thought before how beautiful mother is! She’s always been—just mother!... I think she’s growing pretty,” she added reflectively. She was gazing at her with puzzled eyes. “Go on—tell about the coat!” said Eleanor. “Why—that’s all! I only saw it as she threw it off—and when we came out, it lay there across a chair and Harold said, ’What a stunning thing!’ and I said, ’Yes—for mother!’.rdquo; She laughed and Eleanor smiled faintly. “And then what did he say?” The girl hesitated a minute. “You are growing pretty, you know!” she replied irrelevantly. “And you’re almost the only woman I know that has wrinkles—nice ones!” “Silly child!” said Eleanor. But her face flushed a little. Annabel nodded. “I’ve been puzzling about it—about faces—lots of those suffrage women—I didn’t know what it was—I couldn’t make out! But that’s it—they haven’t any wrinkles!” She said it triumphantly. “They do keep young,” said Richard More thoughtfully. She turned on him almost fiercely. “It isn’t young! It’s—massage! I’ve got so I just seem to hate that look—all puffed out and smooth and softish like putty. It’s a kind of chromo-face,” she said indignantly—“a just-as-good face, you know!” Her father laughed out. She nodded savagely. “That’s the way I feel, and I didn’t know—till to-day.” Her voice grew gentle. “When I get old I’m going to have wrinkles—like mother!” “There’s one on your nose, now—where you’re turning it up,” said Richard. “I don’t care.... Now mother’s wrinkles”—she leaned forward and touched one lightly with her finger—“mother’s wrinkles are—beautiful!” “You flatter me!” said Eleanor, with a little serene smile mocking the light in her face. “There—! That’s it! Do you see?” She motioned to her father. “That little line that makes fun of you!—I’m going to have one just like that!” She leaned back and looked at the wrinkle with artistic approval. Suddenly she jumped up and came and put her arms around her mother’s neck. “Do you think I would let any one massage that wrinkle off your face—you dear old thing, you!” She bent and kissed the wrinkle. And Eleanor put up a hand to the smooth cheek, close against her own—with the little flush coming and going in it. “What did Harold say?” she asked. XV SO Annabel was engaged. And then, almost before they knew it, Annabel was married, and her place was removed from the dining-table, and the circle about the table closed in a little, and Eleanor looked at it with regretful eyes. But the young people were not far off. And two extra plates had often to be laid for dinner or luncheon, or even for breakfast; so that the whole number of plates for the year was perhaps not much reduced.