In the same sitting room and in the same chair, half an hour later, sat Barbara Meade, but in a changed mood. She was alone.

More ridiculously childish than ever she looked, with her small face white and tears forcing their way into her eyes and down her cheeks.

Yet from the music room adjoining the library came such exquisite strains of a world-old and world-lovely melody sung in a charming tenor voice, that the girl was compelled to listen.

Straight through the song went on to the end. But when it was finally finished there was a moment’s silence. Then Dick Thornton appeared, standing between the portieres dividing the two rooms.

“Say, I am awfully sorry there was such a confounded row,” he began. “But there is no use taking the matter so seriously, it is poor Mill’s funeral, not yours. You seem to be the kind of independent young female who goes ahead and does whatever reckless thing she likes without asking anybody’s advice. But I do wish you would give the scheme up too. Mildred will never be allowed to go with you. I don’t approve of it any more than mother does. Just you stay on in New York and I’ll show you the time of your life.”

Dick looked so friendly and agreeable, enough to have softened almost any heart. But Barbara was still thinking of the past half hour.

“Thank you,” she returned coldly. “I haven’t the faintest idea of giving up my purpose, even to ‘have the time of my life.’ And I do think you were hateful not to have stood by your sister. Besides, you might at least have said that you did not believe I had tried to influence Mildred, when your mother accused me. She was extremely unkind.”

Entering the library Dick now took a chair not far from their visitor’s, so that he could plainly observe the expressions on her face.

“Of course, I didn’t stand up for Mill; I wouldn’t let her go into all that sorrow and danger, even if mother consented,” he protested. “Your coming here and all the talk you two girls have had about the poor, brave, wounded soldiers and such stuff, of course has influenced Mill. It has even influenced me—a little. But the fact is the war in Europe isn’t our job.”

“No, perhaps not,” the girl answered slowly, perhaps that she might add the greater effect; “but would you mind telling me just what is your job? You have already told me so many things that were not. Is it doing one-steps and fox trots and singing fairly well? I presume I don’t understand New York society, for out west our young men, no matter how rich their fathers happen to be, try to amount to something themselves; they do some kind of work.”

Under his nonchalant manner Dick had become angry. But no one knew better than he the value of appearing cool in a disagreement with a girl. So he only shrugged his shoulders in a dandified fashion.

“I wonder why you think I am not at present engaged in a frantic search for a job on which to expend my magnificent energy?” Here Dick purposely yawned, extending his long legs into a more reposeful position. “The fact is, I believe I must have been waiting for an uncommonly frank young person from the west to give me the benefit of her advice. What would you suggest as a career for me? Remember, I saved your life this afternoon, so you may devote it to the unfortunate. Now what would you think of my turning chauffeur? I’m not a bad one; you ask our man. Who knows, perhaps driving an automobile is my real gift!”

Of course, her companion’s good humor again put her in the wrong, although Barbara knew that she was wrong in any case. For what possible right had she, after having known Dick Thornton less than a week, to undertake to tell him what he should or should not do? It was curious what a fighting instinct he had immediately aroused in her! She felt that she would almost like to hit him in order to make him wake up and realize that there was something in life besides being handsome and good-natured and smiling lazily upon the world.

However, Barbara now clasped her hands together, church fashion, inclining her curly head.

“Beg pardon again. After all, what should a Prince Charming be except a Prince Charming?” she murmured. “You are a kind of liberal education. I’ve lived such a work-a-day life, I can’t understand why it seems so dreadful to you and your family to do the work one loves in the place where it seems to be most needed. We nurses will be under orders from people older and wiser than we are. If we come close to suffering—well, one can’t live very long without doing that. But I don’t want to bore you; you will be rid of me for life in a little while, and I’ll leave now if your mother and father feel my plans are affecting Mildred.”

“You will do no such thing.” Dick’s voice was curt and less polite than usual, but it was certainly decisive and so ended the discussion.

A few minutes later, apparently in a happier frame of mind, Barbara Meade was about to go upstairs when at the door she turned toward her companion.

“Please don’t think I fail to understand, Mr. Thornton, your not wishing Mildred to go through the discomforts and even the dangers of nursing the wounded soldiers. I suppose every nice brother naturally wishes to protect and look after his sister. I told you I had never had a brother, but you must not think for that reason I cannot appreciate what you must feel.”

Then with a quick movement characteristic of her smallness and grace, Barbara was gone.

Nevertheless Dick remained in the library alone until almost dinner time.

Barbara was right in believing that he hated the thought of his sister Mildred’s being away from the care and affection of her own family. Mildred might not be so handsome as he wished her and wasn’t much of a talker, still there was no doubt that she was a trump in lots of ways. Besides, after all, she was one’s own and only sister. Yet Dick was honest with himself. It was not Mildred alone whom he desired to protect from hardships. Absurd, of course, when the girl was almost a stranger to him, yet Barbara Meade appeared more unfitted for the task that she insisted upon undertaking than his sister. In the first place, Barbara was younger, and certainly a hundred times prettier. Then in spite of her ridiculous temper she was so tiny and looked so like a child that one could only laugh at her. Moreover—oh, well, the worst of it was, Dick felt convinced that she was just the kind of a girl he could have a delightful time with, if he had a proper chance. She had confessed to loving to dance in spite of her sarcasm. So she should have at least a few dances with him before fate swept her out of his way forever.

Ten days later, as early as nine o’clock in the morning, Mrs. Thornton’s limousine was to be seen threading its way in and out among the trucks and wagons along lower Broadway on its way to the American Line steamship pier, No. 62.

Inside the car were seated Mrs. Thornton and Mildred, Judge Thornton, Dick and Barbara Meade. Behind them a taxicab piled with luggage was following. The “Philadelphia” was sailing at eleven o’clock that morning and included among her passenger list four American Red Cross nurses on their way to a mission of relief and love.

In the Thornton automobile not alone was Barbara Meade arrayed for an ocean crossing, but Mildred Thornton also appeared to be wearing a traveling outfit. More extraordinary, the greater part of the luggage on the taxicab behind them bore the initials “M. F. T.” Besides, Mildred was sitting close to her father with her cheek pressed against his shoulder and holding tight to his hand, while the Judge looked entirely and completely miserable.

Should anything happen to Mildred, he, who loved her best, would be responsible. For he had finally yielded to her persuasions, upholding her in her desire, against the repeated objections of his wife and son. Just why he had come round to Mildred’s wish, for the life of him the Judge could not now decide. What was happening to this world anyhow when girls, even a gentle, sweet-tempered one like Mildred, insisted on “making something of their own lives,” “doing something useful,” “following their own consciences and not some one’s else?” Really the Judge could not at present recall with what arguments and pleadings his daughter had finally influenced him. But he did wonder why at present he should feel so utterly dejected at the thought of Mildred’s leaving, when her mother appeared positively triumphant.

Yet the fact is that within the last few days Mrs. Thornton had entirely changed her original point of view. She had discovered that instead of Mildred’s engaging in an enterprise both unwomanly and unbecoming, actually she was doing the most fashionable thing of the hour. Never before had Mildred received so much notice and praise. Positively her mother glowed remembering what their friends had been saying of Mildred’s nobility of character. How fine it was that she had a nature that could not be satisfied with nothing save social frivolities!

Letters of introduction to a number of the best people in England had been pouring in upon them. One from Mrs. Whitehall to her sister, the Countess of Sussex, was particularly worth while. Mrs. Thornton had never before known that she dared include the writer among her friends. Moreover, Mildred had lately been receiving unexpected attentions from the young men who had never before paid her the slightest notice. Half a dozen of them within the past few days had called to say good-by and express their admiration of her pluck. Two or three had declared themselves openly envious of her. For if there were great things going on in the world, no matter how tragic and dreadful, one would feel tremendously worth while to be right on the spot and able to judge for oneself.

Then Dick had reported that Mildred had been more than a halfway belle at a dance that he had insisted upon his sister and their visitor attending before they shut themselves off from all amusements. Such a lot of fellows wanted to talk to Mill about her plans that they seemed not to care that she could not dance any better.

Although there were only between fifty and sixty passengers booked for sailing on the “Philadelphia’s” list, the big dock was crowded with freight of every kind.

On an adjoining dock there was a tremendous stamping of horses. Not far off one of the Atlantic Transport boats was being rapidly transformed into a gigantic stable. Its broad passenger decks were being divided into hundreds of box stalls. Into the hold immensely heavy boxes were being hoisted with derricks and cranes. The whole atmosphere of the New York Harbor front appeared to have changed. Where once there used to be people about to sail for Europe now there appeared to be things taking their place. No longer were pleasure-loving Americans crossing the ocean, but the product of their lands and their hands.

However, Mildred and Barbara gave only a cursory attention to these impersonal matters, and Mildred’s family very little more. They were deeply interested in a meeting which was soon to take place.

Their little party was to consist of four American nurses sent out to assist the British Red Cross wherever their services were most needed.

So far Mildred and Barbara had not even seen the other two girls. However, Judge and Mrs. Thornton had been assured that one was an older woman, who had already had some years’ experience in nursing and could also act as chaperon. About the fourth girl nothing of any kind had been told them.

Therefore, within five minutes after their arrival at the wharf, Miss Moore, one of the Red Cross workers in the New York headquarters from whom the girls had received instructions, joined them. With her was a girl, or a young woman (for she might be any age between twenty or thirty) for whom Mildred and Barbara both conceived an immediate prejudice. They were not willing to call the sensation dislike, because travelers upon a humanitarian crusade must dislike no one, and especially not one of their fellow laborers.

Eugenia Peabody was the stranger’s name. She had come from a small town in Massachusetts. Her clothes were severely plain, a rusty brown walking suit that must have seen long service, as well as a shabby brown coat. Then she had on an absurd hat that looked like a man’s, and her hair was parted in the middle and drawn back on either side. She had handsome dark eyes, so that one could not call her exactly ugly. Only she seemed terribly cold and superior and unsympathetic.

But the fourth girl, Miss Moore explained, by some accident had failed to arrive in time for the steamer. She was to have come from Charleston, South Carolina, having made her application and sent her credentials from there. It was foolish of her to have waited until the last hour before arriving in New York. Now her train had been delayed, and as her passage had been engaged, the money would simply have to be wasted. Had the Red Cross Society known beforehand, another nurse could have taken her place.

The next hour and a half was one of painful confusion. Surely so few passengers never before had so many friends to see them off. Farewells these days meant more than partings under ordinary circumstances. No matter what pretense might be made to the contrary, in every mind, deep in every heart was the possibility that a passenger steamer might strike a floating mine.

Of course, Barbara had been forced to say her hardest farewells before leaving her home in Nebraska. Nevertheless, she could not now help sharing Mildred’s emotions and those of her family. Besides, the Thorntons had been so kind to her in the past two weeks. Mrs. Thornton had apologized for blaming her for Mildred’s decision, but after all it was easy to understand her feeling in the matter. Judge Thornton was one of the biggest-hearted, dearest men in the world. Then there was Dick! Of course, he was a good-for-nothing fellow who would never amount to much except to be a spoiled darling all his days! Yet certainly he was attractive and had been wonderfully sweet-tempered and courteous to her.

Even this morning he had never allowed her to feel lonely for an instant. Always he saw that she was among the groups of their friends who were showering attentions upon Mildred—books and flowers and sweets, besides various extraordinary things which she was recommended to use in her work.

Dick’s farewell present Barbara thought a little curious. It was an extremely costly electric lamp mounted in silver to carry about in her pocket.

“It is to help you see your way, if you should ever get lost or have to go out at night while you are doing that plagued nursing,” he whispered just as the final whistles blew and the friends of the passengers were being put ashore.

As Dick ran down the gang-plank, both Mildred and Barbara were watching him with their eyes full of tears. Suddenly he had to step aside in order not to run over a girl hurrying up the plank from the shore. She was dressed in deep mourning; her hair was of the purest gold and her eyes brown. She had two boys with her, each one of them carrying an extraordinary looking old-fashioned carpet bag of a pattern of fifty years ago.

“I regret it if I have kept you waiting,” she said in a soft, drawling voice to one of the stewards who happened to be nearest the gang-plank. “I’ve come all the way from Charleston, South Carolina, and my train was four hours late.”

The tears driven away by curiosity, Mildred and Barbara now stared at each other. Was this the fourth girl who was to accompany them as a Red Cross nurse? She looked less like a nurse than any one of them. Why, she was as fragile as possible herself, and evidently had never been away from home before in her life. Now she was under the impression that the steamer had been kept waiting for her. Certainly she was apologizing to the steward for delaying them.

Yet a glance at their older companion and both girls felt a warm companionship for the newcomer. For if Miss Peabody had been discouraged on being introduced to them, it was nothing to the disfavor she now allowed herself to show at the appearance of the fourth member of their little Red Cross band.

A little later, with deep blasts from her whistle, the “Philadelphia” began to move out. Amid much waving of handkerchiefs, both on deck and on shore, the voyage had begun.