in the greater centres of life. The chaplain, an earnest man,
found men and women more willing to listen to him, than in any spot in
which he had ever spoken the message entrusted to him. Perhaps the
aviation field had something to do with it; the people in the fort were
always near to life and to death. The chaplain disliked to find
himself watching particular faces in the chapel when he preached the
simple, soldierly sermons on Sundays, and was annoyed with himself that
he always saw, above all others, Anita Fortescue's gaze, and that of
Mrs. Lawrence, as she sat far back in the chapel. Anita's eyes were
full of questionings, and dark with sadness; but Mrs. Lawrence, in her
plain black gown and hat, sometimes with Lawrence by her side, always
with the beautiful boy, sitting among the soldiers and their wives,
embodied tragedy. The chaplain sometimes went to see Mrs. Lawrence;
she was a delicate woman, and often ill, and the chaplain was forced to
admire Lawrence's kindness to his wife, although in other respects
Lawrence was not a model of conduct. As with Mrs. McGillicuddy, and
everybody else at the fort, Mrs. Lawrence maintained a still,
unconquerable reserve. One day, the chaplain said to Anita:

"I hear that Lawrence's wife is ill. Could you go to see her? You
know she isn't like the wives of the other enlisted men, and that makes
it hard to help her."

Anita blushed all over her delicate face. She felt a deep hostility to
Mrs. Lawrence; she had seen Broussard with her twice, and each time
there was an unaccountable familiarity between them. But women seek
their antagonists among other women, and Anita felt a secret longing to
know more about this mysterious woman.

"Certainly I will go," answered Anita. "My father is very strict about
letting me intrude into the soldier's houses--he says it's impertinent
to force one's self in, but I know if you ask me to go to see Mrs.
Lawrence my father will think it quite right."

The Colonel stood firmly by his chaplain, who was a man after his own
heart, and that very afternoon Anita went to Mrs. Lawrence's quarters.
The door was opened by the little boy, Ronald, whom Anita knew, as
everybody else did. The girl's heart beat as she entered the narrow
passage-way in which she had seen Broussard and Mrs. Lawrence standing
together, and it beat more as she walked into the little sitting-room,
where Mrs. Lawrence sat in an arm chair at the window. She was
evide