oda. "It's a matter for the
individual conscience. I decided one way. Connor obviously decided
another, and, like a lucky fellow, found Betty of his way of thinking.
Perhaps I have old-fashioned notions." He took a long pull at his
drink. "Well, it can't be helped," he said with a smile. "The other
fellow has won, and I must take it gracefully. ... By George! wasn't
she looking stunning to-night--in that kit? ... I hope you didn't mind
my bursting in on you--"

"Of course not," said I, politely.

He drained his glass. "The fact is," said he, "this war is a
nerve-racking business. I never dreamed I was so jumpy until I came
home. I hate being by myself. I've kept my poor devoted mother up till
one o'clock in the morning. To-night she struck, small blame to her;
but, after five minutes on my lones, I felt as if I should go off my
head. So I routed out the car and came along. But of course I didn't
expect to see Betty. The sight of Betty in the flesh as a married woman
nearly bowled me over. May I help myself again?" He poured out a very
much stiffer drink than before, and poured half of it down his throat.
"It's not a joyous thing to see the woman one has been crazy over the
wife of another fellow."

"I suppose it isn't," said I.

Of course I might have made some subtle and cunning remark, suavely put
a leading question which would have led him on, in his unbalanced mood,
to confidential revelations. But the man was a distinguished soldier
and my guest. To what he chose to tell me voluntarily I could listen. I
could do no more. He did not reply to my last unimportant remark, but
lay back in his armchair watching the blue spirals of smoke from the
end of his cigar. There was a fairly long silence.

I was worried by the talk I had overheard through the open door. "You
have behaved worse to others. I don't wonder at your shrinking from
showing your face here." Betty had, weeks ago, called him a devil. She
had treated him to-night in a manner which, if not justified, was
abominable. I was forced to the conclusion that Betty was fully aware
of some discreditable chapter in the man's life which had nothing to do
with the affair at Vilboek's Farm, which, indeed, had to do with
another woman and this humdrum little town of Wellingsford. Otherwise
why did she taunt him with hiding from the light of Wellingsfordian day?

Now, please don't think me little-minded. Or, if you do think so,
please remember the conditions under wh