ne called her Saralie.
She held the child in her arms close.

"Saralie!" said the child, over and over; "Saralie! That's your name.
I love your name."

And there came, echoing in her ears, Henri and his tender Saralie.

There was an oppression on her too. Her very bedroom thrust on her her
approaching marriage. This was her own furniture, for her new home. It
was beautiful, simple and good. But she was not ready for marriage. She
had been too close to the great struggle to be prepared to think in terms
of peace so soon. Perhaps, had she dared to look deeper than that, she
would have found something else, a something she had not counted on.

She and Belle had a little time after the visitors had gone, before
Harvey came home. They sat in Belle's bedroom, and her sentences were
punctuated by little backs briskly presented to have small garments
fastened, or bows put on stiffly bobbed yellow hair.

"Did you understand my letter?" she asked. "I was sorry I had sent it,
but it was too late then."

"I put your letter and--theirs, together. I supposed that Harvey--"

"He was about out of his mind," Belle said in her worried voice. "Stand
still, Mary Ellen! He went to Mrs. Gregory, and I suppose he said a good
bit. You know the way he does. Anyhow, she was very angry. She called
a special meeting, and--I tried to prevent their recalling you. He
doesn't know that, of course."

"You tried?"

"Well, I felt as though it was your work," Belle said rather
uncomfortably. "Bring me the comb, Alice. I guess we get pretty narrow
here and--I've been following things more closely since you went over.
I know more than I did. And, of course, after one marries there isn't
much chance. There are children and--" Her face twisted. "I wish I
could do something."

She got up and brought from the dresser a newspaper clipping.

"It's the London newspaper," she explained. "I've been taking it, but
Harvey doesn't know. He doesn't care much for the English. This is
about your being decorated."

Sara Lee held it listlessly in her hands.

"Shall I tell him, Belle?" she asked.

Belle hesitated.

"I don't believe I would," she said forlornly. "He won't like it.
That's why I've never showed him that clipping. He hates it all so."

Sara Lee dressed that evening in the white frock. She dressed slowly,
thinking hard. All round her was the shiny newness of her furniture,
a trifle crowded in Belle's small room. Sara Lee had a terrible feeling