It was a grievance to Quenrede that, as she expressed it, she had "missed the war." She had longed to go out to France and drive an ambulance, or to whirl over English roads on a motorcycle, buying up hay for the Government, or to assist in training horses, or to help in some other patriotic job of an equally interesting and exciting character.
"It's _too_ bad that just when I'm old enough all the jolly things are closed to women!" she groused.

"If Mother had only let me leave school a year ago, I'd at least have had three months' fun.

Life's going to be very slow now.

There's nothing sporty to do at all!" Ingred, the youngest but one, and fifteen on her last birthday, was the only dark member of the fair Saxon family.

At present she was not nearly so good-looking as pretty Quenrede; her mouth was a trifle heavy and her cheeks lacked color; but her eyes had depths that were not seen in her sister's, and her thick brown hair fell far below her waist.