don't see why we don't go home by way of Fort Myer. It doesn't take any longer, and dinner isn't till seven, you know."
"All right." Bobby leaned forward and spoke to the chauffeur. "Take us round by Fort Myer, please, Carter," she directed.
The car turned sharply, and in a few minutes they were rattling over an old bridge.
"We live out in the country, Betty, I warn you," said the voluble Bobby. "But it has its compensations. You'll like it."
Betty, a stranger to Washington, decided that the Willard must be a country hotel. It would be like Uncle Dick, she knew, to shun the heart of the city and establish himself somewhere where he could see green fields the first thing every morning.
"What is Fort Myer?" she asked with lively curiosity, as the car began to climb a steep grade. "Is that where they had training camps during the war?"
"Right," said Bobby. "It's an army post, you know. See, here are some of the officers' houses. I only hope we live here when Louise and I are eighteen—they give the most heavenly dances and parties."
Betty looked with interest at the neat houses they were passing. The names of the officers were conspicuously tacked on the doorsteps, and there
