t he? It was he who
brought down the Zeppelin over Brussels and went missing a few days
later. You see, I remember his record. He was outstandingly brave at a
time when the world was full of brave men. And you tell me he loved
you?"

An expression of triumph flitted across her face. "Not loved." Her voice
was full-throated. "He adored me, and to me he was a god whom I
worshiped. I'd have gone through hell for him. I'd----"

"No, you wouldn't."

The flatness of the contradiction pulled her up short. "No you
wouldn't," he repeated quietly. "You wouldn't even go through this for
him. You wouldn't play the game by him when he was dead. He always kept
his end up, whatever the odds against him; but you--you couldn't. This
was your chance to show that you were worthy of him. While he was alive,
you played a winning game; it was easy to be true to him. But he--he was
stauncher; he was most to be trusted when the game seemed all but lost.
You ought to have kept his spirit alive for us; but you've understood so
little of his spirit that you've been willing to put any stranger in his
place--to quote your own words, any stranger who chose to hang his hat
in your hall. Pollock was a soldier; he didn't need to be sure of
victory to show courage. It was in tight corners that he was at his
best. You're in a tight corner now, and you're his wife--the wife whom
he didn't love, but adored."

The brutal impact of the truth had struck her dumb at first. Her lips
had fallen apart. While she had listened, her face had gone white. Now
that he paused, she slipped back into the cushions, covering her eyes
with her hands. "For God's sake stop torturing me! Though you think I'm
as contemptible as that, don't say it. If you must speak, tell me what
you think I ought to do."

"Do! Until you find a living man who's his match, carry on as though he
were not dead."

She uncovered her eyes and sat upright, staring at him. "As though he
were not dead. But Reggie is dead. You know as well as I do that he's
dead."

Tabs nodded. "I'm not denying it. But for all that, try to live as
though he weren't--as though somewhere up the road, a day, a week, a
month, a year hence he would meet you round the corner."

Her interest faded forlornly. "What good would that do? It would only be
making believe with myself."

He spoke gently. "Yes, but games of make-believe come true. You couldn't
meet _him_, but you might meet some one his equal--a man who's, per