Both shook hands with the laughing girl, Andree still with that restraint which was always hers at a first meeting, Kendall with relief, for he liked Madeleine’s looks. She was taller than Andree by inches, and not at all beautiful as Andree was beautiful. The key-note of her character at first glance seemed to be joyousness, a lightness of heart, good nature. Her mouth was rather broad, but not displeasingly so, for it was always showing her white teeth through a smile that seemed to be the commencement of a laugh. She was always laughing, always moving her body or her hands as if the young life that was in her could not be still.... And yet there was a shrewd look about her eyes which advertised that here was no empty head, but a capable young person indeed.... She was a distinct blonde, with hair which seemed always just on the point of being disordered, yet which never seemed to lose control of itself and become disordered. Later Kendall wondered if Madeleine and her hair were not very much alike in character. “All right, eh?” said Bert, proudly, patting Madeleine’s shoulder. She threw him a laughing, affectionate glance, and in another instant she and Andree were chattering to each other with a rapidity which was not only astonishing, but utterly unintelligible to the boys. If Andree spoke with bewildering rapidity, what could one say of Madeleine? Kendall laughed. “Mademoiselle Mitrailleuse,” he said, and it was a name that clung, for it was so apt. She was a veritable machine-gun, shooting out words with a rapidity almost incredible. Arlette appeared in the door of the dining-room and announced that dinner was served. The quartet of young people took their places at table, and Kendall began serving a wonderful pea soup from a big bowl while Arlette stood in the door with hands folded across her stomach, watching anxiously and shooting quick glances at Madeleine. “It is soup,” she said, suddenly, and then darted out of sight with startling abruptness. The soup was followed by meat, which Arlette placed on the table with something like a flourish, then stepped back and addressed Andree. “Veal,” she said. “Oh, mademoiselle, the meats are too dear. It is not my fault.... Perhaps this will be tough. Who knows?” She paused anxiously to look first at Bert and then at Ken, who was carving. “It’s all right, Arlette,” he assured her, but she was not satisfied, remaining as close to the table as she could press and watching with an expression of the most comical anxiety while Ken cut off a morsel and put it in his mouth. She then, apparently, calculated the difficulty he encountered in mastication, her jaws working a trifle as if to aid in the process, and presently uttered a deep sigh of relief. According to her judgment, Ken had not chewed too laboriously and the meat was satisfactory. Only then did she retreat to the kitchen. “She is very droll,” said Madeleine, restraining her laughter with difficulty.