'A few years ago,' she said slowly, 'when the war was going on, two gentlemen came one night to see Mr. Falkirk. They told war stories; and I with my book of some study in my hand, sat still and listened. One story was this. A mutual friend of all the parties had laid the United States flag down in her drawing room as a floor- cloth, to be trodden under foot. Then the other gentleman spoke out and said his wife would not enter that house again while the war lasted! Mrs. Coles—at the opera and the theatre my flag is under foot.' 'Your flag!' said the lady in amazement. 'Yes,' Hazel answered with her colour stirring. 'You know what service I have sworn into.' 'I don't see where the flags come in,' said Mrs. Coles. Hazel answered softly, gazing into the fire,—"Thou hast given a banner to thy chosen, that it may be displayed because of the truth." 'Then you mean to say,' broke out Mrs. Coles with a rising colour of her own tinging the pale face, 'that no Christians ever go to the theatre!' 'Do they carry their flag aloft there?' said Wych Hazel. 'Are they marching to victory under its folds? I could not carry mine. It would be trailing, drooping, union-down!—' 'Prue, Prue,' said Primrose, 'you know what papa always says.' 'Papa does not know the world!' said Mrs. Coles, waving _that_ down. 'And how about your favourite German?' she said, returning to the charge against Wych Hazel with equal ire and curiosity. Wych Hazel answered again, still looking into the fire,— ' "No man that warreth entangleth himself with the affairs of this life; that he may please him who hath chosen him to be a soldier." ' The girl spoke so "at liberty,"—there was such freedom in the loyalty, the folds of the banner waved so gladly above her head,— Mrs. Coles looked and hesitated. Then, spying as she thought a joint in the armour, so to speak, she sent out an arrow. 'And you call _that_ a good marching uniform, I suppose,' she said derisively, with a comprehensive glance that went from head to foot. Wych Hazel faced round upon her with eyes wide open at first in displeased astonishment. But in a moment another look came, startled, wondering, as when one finds a sudden unlooked-for clue. Was _that_ it? Wych Hazel said to herself. Had it been left to Mrs. Coles to tell her? "A good marching uniform?"—Wych Hazel thought she knew better now than ever before "what to do about dress." The ladies were going out, and the subject dropped. The morning was filled with out-of-door business. At luncheon Mrs. Coles declared herself fatigued and disposed to rest at home. She fondly hoped the afternoon would be made lively by visiters; and to her wish, so it was.