glass, and gathered up her gloves with a pleased air. For the moment she
could not possibly believe that anyone could have referred to her as "an
over-ornamented pie." "Good-bye, Cecilia; don't be late for tea." She
sailed down the stairs.

Even the bang of the hall door failed to convey any relief to Cecilia.
For the second time she toiled upstairs, to the bare freshness of her
little room. Generally, it had a tonic effect upon her; to-day it seemed
that nothing could help her. She leaned her head against the window,
a wave of homesick loneliness flooding all her soul. So deep were its
waters that she did not hear the hall door open and close again, and
presently swift feet pounding up the stairs. Someone battered on her
door.

"Cecilia! Are you there?"

She ran to open the door. Bob stood there, a short, muscular fellow, in
Air Force blue, with twinkling eyes. She put out her hands to him with a
little pitiful gesture.

"Don't say that horrible name again," she whispered. "If anyone else
calls me Cecilia I'll just go mad."

Bob came in, and flung a brotherly arm round her shoulders.

"Has it been so beastly?" he said. "Poor little Tommy. Oh, Tommy, I saw
the over-ornamented pie sailing down the street, and I dived into a side
alley until she'd gone out of range. I guessed from her proud and happy
face that you'd been scarified."