"And you’re wondering if I ever did. Well, no." "I should think," suggested Peggy, feeling the beads of perspiration start on her forehead, "that it would be better to write about the things you know. That’s all." "But I don’t know anything worth writing about," said Elaine sharply. Then in a changed voice, "O, I see! Probably that’s just the reason I oughtn’t to try it." "It seems to me," floundered Peggy, wondering how editors ever lived through the ordeal of rejecting manuscripts, "that after you’ve lived longer--" "I believe," interjected Mrs. Marshall witheringly, "that Bryant wrote ’Thanatopsis’ at eighteen." "I believe he did," Peggy acknowledged meekly. "But this isn’t ’Thanatopsis,’" said Elaine, surveying "The Daughter’s Defiance," with critical eye, "and I’m not Bryant. That’s all Peggy means." She smiled with a courage that did not conceal a quiver of pain, and Peggy looked at her with a contrition no less keen because she herself felt the need of sympathy. Again a welcome diversion came from Dorothy. In her search for entertainment she had discovered a basket of photographs, placed upon a small stand. Engrossed in the possibilities of her discovery Dorothy had leaned against the basket’s frail support, with the result that the stand was overturned and the pictures strewn far and wide. For the second time during her call Peggy went down on hands and knees to gather up the scattered photographs, having satisfied herself by the agility with which Dorothy scrambled to her feet that she was uninjured. "O, Elaine!" It was a relief to start a topic of conversation which bore no relation to literary pursuits. "Here’s a picture of you, I never saw before." Elaine glanced up quickly. "O," she exclaimed, "I didn’t know that was downstairs." Peggy’s discovery was a kodak picture, apparently a group of picnickers, gathered on the edge of a small lake. When she had removed all traces of the disorder caused by Dorothy’s mishap she carried the picture to the window, for a closer look. "How heavy your hair used to be, Elaine. You’ve got plenty now, but it was lots heavier then." No reply. "I love kodak pictures," Peggy went on. "This is an awfully cute one, but really you look older in it than you look now. I suppose it is because there’s no retouching." Something in the other’s silence caused her to look up. Elaine’s face was crimson, and her manner so indicative of perturbation that Peggy was on the point of demanding the reason. Elaine saved her from that blunder. "It’s not a bit good picture," she said hastily. "I can’t bear it. I never mean to leave it where people can see it." She took the offending photograph from Peggy’s hand, and had locked it into the drawer of the desk before Peggy had recovered from her amazement.