of being fastened in by it. Wherever she turned it gleamed. She felt
surrounded, smothered.

She had meant to make a clean breast of things--of the little house,
and of Henri, and of the King, pinning the medal on her shabby black
jacket and shaking hands with her. Henri she must tell about--not his
name of course, nor his madness, nor even his love. But she felt that
she owed it to Harvey to have as few secrets from him as possible. She
would tell about what the boy had done for her, and how he, and he alone,
had made it all possible.

Surely Harvey would understand. It was a page that was closed. It had
held nothing to hurt him. She had come back.

She stood by her window, thinking. And a breath of wind set the leaves
outside to rustling. Instantly she was back again in the little house,
and the sound was not leaves, but the shuffling of many stealthy feet
on the cobbles of the street at night, that shuffling that was so like
the rustling of leaves in a wood or the murmur of water running over a
stony creek bed.

XXV

It was clear to Sara Lee from the beginning of the evening that Harvey
did not intend to hear her story. He did not say so; indeed, for a time
he did not talk at all. He sat with his arms round her, content just to
have her there.

"I have a lot of arrears to make up," he said. "I've got to get used to
having you where I can touch you. To-night when I go upstairs I'm going
to take that damned colorless photograph of you and throw it out the
window."

"I must tell you about your photograph," she ventured. "It always stood
on the mantel over the stove, and when there was a threatened bombardment
I used to put it under--"

"Let's not talk, honey."

When he came out of that particular silence he said abruptly:

"Will Leete is dead."

"Oh, no! Poor Will Leete."

"Died of pneumonia in some God-forsaken hole over there. He's left a
wife and nothing much to keep her. That's what comes of mixing in the
other fellow's fight. I guess we can get the house as soon as we want
it. She has to sell; and it ought to be a bargain."

"Harvey," she said rather timidly, "you speak of the other fellow's
fight. They say over there that we are sure to be drawn into it sooner
or later."

"Not on our life!" he replied brusquely. "And if you don't mind, honey,
I don't care to hear about what they think over there." He got up from
his old place on the arm of her chair and stood on the rug. "I'd better
t