able to switch his own lights on again only
in time to avoid a collision. The on-coming car lurched and passed by
furiously, but not before Dave had recognized Conward as the driver.
Back on its trail of dust floated the ribald notes of half-intoxicated
women.

"Close enough," said Dave, when the dust had settled. "Well, let us
jog back home."

They took the return trip leisurely, drinking in the glories of the
night, and allowing time for the play of conversation. Bert Morrison
was a good conversationalist. Her points of interest were almost
infinite. And they were back among the street lights before they knew.

"Oh, we are nearly home," she exclaimed. "And, honest, Dave, I wanted
to ask you something. Why don't you get married?"

"I guess I'm too sympathetic," he answered, after a moment's pause.
"And it wouldn't be fair--"

"Oh, can that. It's been warmed over once already. Really, though,
why don't you?"

"Why should I?"

"Why shouldn't you? It's natural. And you know you can't go on always
just putting it off. It leaves your life empty. To-night, when I
asked you if you had had dinner, you said, 'Such a meal as a man eats
alone.' That betrays the emptiness."

"I suppose it does. But I don't know many girls. I don't know any
girl very well, except you, and you wouldn't have me."

"No, I wouldn't," she answered frankly. "I like you too well. But you
know other girls, and you could get to know more if you wanted to.
There's Edith Duncan, for instance."

"Edith is a fine girl. The Duncans are wonderful people. I owe to
them almost everything. But as for marrying Edith--"

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I never thought of it that way. She's a fine girl."

"None better," said Bert, with decision. "Dave, I'm not much on
orthodox religion, as you know, but that girl's got something on me.
She has a voice that would make her famous on the stage, but she uses
it all the time, as she says, 'in the service of the King!' I think
she's narrow on that point, but I know she's sincere. Edith has had a
great sorrow, and it makes her nobility stand out, pure and wonderful,
like a white gem in a black setting. It seems to be the law that one
must rub shoulders with sorrow before he really begins to live. And
any afternoon you can find her down in the children's ward, singing
with that wonderful voice to the little sick sufferers."

"I know about her sorrow," said Dave, as though confessing a