ley.

"All I could see was women falling into soldiers' arms," he said,
sullenly.

"Certainly. Could an American girl desire any greater happiness--or
opportunity to prove her gratitude?" flashed Carley, with proud uplift
of head.

"It didn't look like gratitude to me," returned Morrison.

"Well, it was gratitude," declared Carley, ringingly. "If women of
America did throw themselves at soldiers it was not owing to the moral
lapse of the day. It was woman's instinct to save the race! Always, in
every war, women have sacrificed themselves to the future. Not vile,
but noble!... You insult both soldiers and women, Mr. Morrison. I
wonder--did any American girls throw themselves at you?"

Morrison turned a dead white, and his mouth twisted to a distorted
checking of speech, disagreeable to see.

"No, you were a slacker," went on Carley, with scathing scorn. "You let
the other men go fight for American girls. Do you imagine one of them
will ever marry you?... All your life, Mr. Morrison, you will be a
marked man--outside the pale of friendship with real American men and
the respect of real American girls."

Morrison leaped up, almost knocking the table over, and he glared at
Carley as he gathered up his hat and cane. She turned her back upon him.
From that moment he ceased to exist for Carley. She never spoke to him
again.

Next day Carley called upon her dearest friend, whom she had not seen
for some time.

"Carley dear, you don't look so very well," said Eleanor, after
greetings had been exchanged.

"Oh, what does it matter how I look?" queried Carley, impatiently.

"You were so wonderful when you got home from Arizona."

"If I was wonderful and am now commonplace you can thank your old New
York for it."

"Carley, don't you care for New York any more?" asked Eleanor.

"Oh, New York is all right, I suppose. It's I who am wrong."

"My dear, you puzzle me these days. You've changed. I'm sorry. I'm
afraid you're unhappy."

"Me? Oh, impossible! I'm in a seventh heaven," replied Carley, with
a hard little laugh. "What 're you doing this afternoon? Let's go
out--riding--or somewhere."

"I'm expecting the dressmaker."

"Where are you going to-night?"

"Dinner and theater. It's a party, or I'd ask you."

"What did you do yesterday and the day before, and the days before
that?"

Eleanor laughed indulgently, and acquainted Carley with a record of her
social wanderings during the last few days.

"The sa