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 Europe—now let's talk about things that count—about you and me. Mother, have you wanted me ever?"

Mrs. Martin moved uneasily. "Don't let us be emotional, Priscilla; it is too great a strain. Let us just stick to the facts. We've lived our lives practically apart, and now we're going to try to live together in peace and happiness, but we mustn't demand too much of each other all at once."

"So—you haven't," Priscilla concluded simply, and her eyes never wandered from her mother's face. "Of course I don't see why you should, but I hoped—I think I don't care for any more tea." She got up and wandered to the window.

Mrs. Martin felt uncomfortable, futile. She was not handling the situation in her usual brilliant way. "I hope you are going to be very happy here. We'll have parties and dinners and balls, and amuse ourselves splendidly. I've planned a cotillion for you in a couple of weeks, and you're to lead it with Peter Schuyler, the most popular