ade him
relent. He put an arm around her and drew her to him.

"Don't cry, honey," he said. "It makes me unhappy to see you miserable."

He kissed her. And they clung together, finding a little comfort in the
contact of warm young bodies.

He went up to her room that night. He was more anxious as to Rudolph
than he cared to admit, but he went up, treading softly on stairs
that creaked with every step. He had no coherent thoughts. He wanted
companionship rather than love. He was hungry for what she gave him, the
touch of her hands about his neck, the sense of his manhood that shone
from her faithful eyes, the admiration and unstinting love she offered
him.

But alone in the little room he had a reaction, not the less keen
because it was his fastidious rather than his moral sense that revolted.
The room was untidy, close, sordid. Even Anna's youth did not redeem it.
Again he had the sense, when he had closed the door, of being caught in
a trap, and this time a dirty trap. When she had taken off her hat, and
held up her face to be kissed, he knew he would not stay.

"It's awful, isn't it?" she asked, following his eyes.

"It doesn't look like you. That's sure."

"I hurried out. It's not so bad when it's tidy."

He threw up the window, and stood there a moment. The spring air was
cool and clean, and there was a sound of tramping feet below. He looked
down. The railway station was near-by, and marching toward it, with the
long swing of regulars, a company of soldiers was moving rapidly. The
night, the absence of drums or music, the businesslike rapidity of
their progress, held him there, looking down. He turned around. Anna had
slipped off her coat, and had opened the collar of her blouse. Her neck
gleamed white and young. She smiled at him.

"I guess I'll be going," he stammered.

"Going!"

"I only wanted to see how you are fixed." His eyes evaded hers. "I'll
see you again in a day or two. I--"

He could not tell her the thoughts that were surging in him. The country
was at war. Those fellows below there were already in it, of it. And
here in this sordid room, he had meant to take her, not because he loved
her, but because she offered herself. It was cheap. It was terrible. It
was--dirty.

"Good night," he said, and tried to kiss her. But she turned her face
away. She stood listening to his steps on the stairs as he went down,
steps that mingled and were lost in the steady tramp of the soldiers'
feet in the