“No.  I have travelled.  I have been quite around the world.”

“You have!” This explained much.  “How I envy you!  That is a privilege I shall not know until I am superannuated.”  While he should remain chief of staff he must be literally a prisoner in his own country.

“Yes, I should say it was splendid!  Splendid—­yes, indeed!” Snappy little nods of the head being unequal to expressing the joy of the memories that her exclamation evoked, she clasped her hands over her knees and swung back and forth in the ecstasy of seventeen.

“Splendid!  I should say so!” She nestled the curling tip of her tongue against her teeth, as if the recollection must also be tasted.  “Splendid, enchanting, enlightening, stupendous, and wickedly expensive!  Another girl and I did it all on our own.”

“O-oh!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, oh, oh!” she repeated after him.  “Oh, what, please?”

“Oh, nothing!” he said.  It was quite comprehensible to him how well equipped she was to take care of herself on such an adventure.

“Precisely, when you come to think it over!” she concluded.

“What interested you most?  What was the big lesson of all your journeying?” he asked, ready to play the listener.

“Being born and bred on a frontier, of an ancestry that was born and bred on a frontier, why, frontiers interested me most,” she said.  “I collected impressions of frontiers as some people collect pictures.  I found them all alike—­stupid, just stupid!  Oh, so stupid!” Her frown grew with the repetition of the word; her fingers closed in on her palm in vexation.  He recollected that he had seen her like this two or three times at La Tir, when he had found the outbursts most entertaining.  He imagined that the small fist pressed against the table edge could deliver a stinging blow.  “As stupid as it is for neighbors to quarrel!  It put me at war with all frontiers.”

“Apparently,” he said.

She withdrew her fist from the table, dropped the opened hand over the other on her knee, her body relaxing, her wrath passing into a kind of shamefacedness and then into a soft, prolonged laugh.

“I laugh at myself, at my own inconsistency,” she said.  “I was warlike against war.  At all events, if there is anything to make a teacher of peace lose her temper it is the folly of frontiers.”

“Yes?” he exclaimed.  “Yes?  Go on!” And he thought:  “I’m really having a very good time.”

“You see, I came home from my tour with an idea—­an idea for a life occupation just as engrossing as yours,” she went on, “and opposed to yours.  I saw there was no use of working with the grown-up folks.  They must be left to The Hague conferences and the peace societies.  But children are quite alike the world over.  You can plant thoughts in the young that will take root and grow as they grow.”

“Patriotism, for instance,” he observed narrowly.

“No, the follies of martial patriotism!  The wickedness of war, which is the product of martial patriotism!”