Carr-Boldts filled their house with the reckless and noisy company
they occasionally affected, Mrs. Carteret would say majestically to
Margaret:--

"You and I have nothing in common with this riff-raff, my dear!"

Summer came, and Margaret headed a happy letter "Bar Harbor." Two
months later all Weston knew that Margaret Paget was going abroad for
a year with those rich people, and had written her mother from the
Lusitania. Letters from London, from Germany, from Holland, from
Russia, followed. "We are going to put the girls at school in
Switzerland, and (ahem!) winter on the Riviera, and then Rome for Holy
Week!" she wrote.

She was presently home again, chattering French and German to amuse
her father, teaching Becky a little Italian song to match her little
Italian costume.

"It's wonderful to me how you get along with all these rich people,
Mark," said her mother, admiringly, during Margaret's home visit. Mrs.
Paget was watering the dejected-looking side garden with a straggling
length of hose; Margaret and Julie shelling peas on the side steps.
Margaret laughed, coloring a little.

"Why, we're just as good as they are, Mother!"

Mrs. Paget drenched a dried little dump of carnations.

"We're as good," she admitted; "but we're not as rich, or
as travelled,--we haven't the same ideas; we belong to a