“Well, what are your eyes and nose all red for then?” asked Amy reasonably.

“Ask them,” retorted Mollie.  “Probably just did it to make me mad.”

Several days had gone by, and the entertainment into which the girls had thrown themselves with so much enthusiasm had been given and pronounced a great success by the soldiers stationed at Camp Liberty.  Since then the days had been given largely to the routine work of the Hostess House—­afternoon teas, evening coffee served to those who wished it, writing letters for the boys, entertaining others, looking after wives and mothers and sisters who were visiting near the camp, suggesting books for some who seemed to be of uncertain taste.  Now, on this day, something unusual had plainly happened.

“Oh, girls, I’ve got a wonderful plan—­something new for the soldier boys!” cried Betty, breaking in upon her two friends merrily.  Then, seeing that she had interrupted something, paused and looked uncertainly from Amy to Mollie and back again.

“Why, Mollie,” she cried anxiously, “what is the matter?”

“Oh, can’t you find something original to say?” snapped Mollie irascibly.  “Seems to me that’s all I hear from morning to night.  ’Oh, Mollie, what’s the matter—­what’s the matter, Mollie?’ till I could scream.”

“Oh, please excuse me,” said Betty, with a little freezing quality in her voice.  “I thought I might help; but if that’s the way you feel about it—­”

Quick as a flash Mollie had run to her and, repentant, thrown her arms about the Little Captain’s neck.

“Please forgive me, Betty,” she cried.  “I’m perfectly horrid, and I know I don’t deserve a friend like you.  But—­well, I’m just a beast, that’s all,” she finished lamely.

Betty laughed and patted her shoulder comfortingly.

“I guess we all are once in a while,” she said, adding with a return of her old cheeriness, “Now, prove your repentance by ’fessing up.  It’s sure to make you feel better.”

“Well, it wasn’t anything much,” Mollie replied, her face clouding again.  “Only—­I had a quarrel with—­with—­somebody—­”

“How very explicit,” drawled Grace, who had entered the room in time to hear the last part of the sentence.

Mollie stiffened, and Betty sent Grace a warning glance.

“Go on, Mollie dear, I’m awfully interested,” Betty hurriedly interposed.  “Because, you see,” she added ruefully, “I just had a quarrel myself.”

“You did,” cried the three at once, and crowded around her eagerly.

“Oh, Betty, who with?” asked Amy, too excited to bother about grammar.  Betty quarreled so seldom with anybody that when she did the girls considered it an event.

“I’ll tell you about it after Mollie has ’fessed up,” evaded Betty, seeming a trifle sorry for her confidence.

“Oh, did Mollie have one, too?” cried Grace delightedly, while Mollie sent her a hostile glance.