onfessed. "I haven't always been able to take things
quietly and--and philosophically. The wonderful thing about you is that
you've never been overwhelmed by any situation we've been in together.
You've never even seemed to take them very seriously. And yet, when it
came to a 'show-down,' as Shaw says, you've been right there, always."

He made no answer to this. His mind was caught and held by the phrase
"as Shaw says." So she and Shaw had talked him over! He recalled the
silver-framed photograph of her on Shaw's mantel, the photograph whose
presence had made him see red; and a queer little chill went down his
spine at this reminder of their strange and unexplained association.
Then, resolutely, he again summoned his will and his faith, and became
conscious that she was still speaking.

"You're the kind," she said, "that in the French Revolution, if you had
been a victim of it, would have gone to the guillotine with a smile and
a jest, and would have seen in the experience only a new adventure."

At that, he shook his head.

"I don't know," he said slowly, and with the seriousness he had shown
her once or twice before. "Death is a rather important thing. I've been
thinking about it a good deal lately."

"_You_ have!" In her astonishment, she straightened in her chair. "Why?"

"Well," he hesitated, "I haven't spoken about it much, but--the truth
is, I'm taking the European war more seriously than I have seemed to. I
think America will swing into the fight in a month or two more; I really
don't see how we can keep out any longer. And I've made up my mind to
volunteer as soon as we declare war."

"Oh, Laurie!"

That was all she said, but it was enough. Again he turned away from her
and looked into the fire.

"I want to talk to you about it sometime," he went on. "Not now, of
course. I'm going in for the aviation end. That's my game."

"Yes, it would be," she corroborated, almost inaudibly.

"I've been thinking about it a lot," he repeated. There was an intense,
unexpected relief in this confidence, which he had made to no one else
but Bangs, and to him in only a casual phrase or two. "That's one reason
why it has been hard for me to get down to work on a new play, as Bangs
and Epstein have been hounding me to do. I was afraid I couldn't keep
my mind on it. All I can think of, besides you--" he hesitated, then
went on rather self-consciously--"are those fellows over there and the
tremendous job they're doing. I