Claudia Beaufort was accustomed to impatience in men, and she was inflexible as a hostess. "Well, of course, we couldn't begin without them, could we?" she asked. "There they come now, Father. William, you'd better help Major Prime." Randy was driving the fat mare, Rosalind. Nellie Custis, Randolph's wiry hound, loped along with flapping ears in the rear of the low-seated carriage. Major Prime was on the back seat with Mrs. Paine. "My dear Judge," he said, as the old gentleman came to the side of the carriage, "I can't tell you how honored I am to be included in your party. This is about the best thing that has happened to me in a long time." "I wanted you to get the old atmosphere. You can't get it at the Country Club. We Bannisters have lunched up here for sixty years--older than you are, eh?" "Twenty years----" "We used to call it the races, but now they tack on the Horse Show. It was different, of course, when all the old places were owned by the old families. But they can't change the oaks and the sweep of the hills, and the mettle of the horses, thank God." "I am sorry I was late," said Caroline Paine, as they settled themselves under the trees, "but I went to town to have my hair waved." "I wish you wouldn't, Caroline," Mrs. Beaufort told her, "your hair is nice enough without it." Caroline Paine took off her hat, "I couldn't get it up to look like this, could I?" The Judge surveyed the undulations critically. "Caroline," he said, "you are too pretty to need it." "I want to keep young for Randolph's sake," Mrs. Paine told him, "then he'll like me better than any other girl." "You needn't think you have to get your hair curled to make me love you," said her tall son; "you are ducky enough as you are." Major Prime, delighting in their lack of self-consciousness, made a diplomatic contribution. "Why quarrel with such a charming coiffure?" Mrs. Paine smiled at him, comfortably. "I feel much better," she said; "they are always trying to hold me back." She was a woman of ample proportions and of leisurely habit. Life had of late hurried her a bit, but she still gave the effect of restful calm. She was of the same generation as Aunt Claudia, and a widow. But she wore her widowhood with a difference. She had on to-day a purple hat. Her hair was white, her dress was white, and her shoes. She was prettier than Aunt Claudia but she lacked her distinction of manner and of carriage. "They always want to hold me back when I try to be up-to-date," she repeated. Randy threw an acorn at her. "Nobody can hold you back, Mother," he said, "when you get your mind on a thing. Aunt Claudia, what do you hear from Truxton?" "A letter came this morning," said Mrs. Beaufort, lighting up with the thought of it. "I hadn't heard for days before that. And I was worried." "Truxton hasn't killed himself writing letters since he went over," the Judge asserted. "Claudia, can't we have lunch?"