loomed up above the sea, gloomy as a
thunder-head charged with lightning.

After a while the batteries along the Narrows slipped into view.
Farther on, camouflaged ships rode sullenly at anchor, as though
ashamed of their frivolous and undignified appearance. A battleship
was just leaving the Lower Bay, smoke pouring from every funnel.
Destroyers and chasers rushed by them, headed seaward.

Then, high over the shore mists and dimly visible through rising
vapours, came speeding a colossal phantom.

Vague as a shark's long shadow sheering translucent depths, the huge
dirigible swept eastward and slid into the Long Island fog.

And at that moment somebody walked plump into young Shotwell; and the
soft, fragrant shock knocked the breath out of both.

She recovered hers first:

"I'm sorry!" she faltered. "It was stupid. I was watching the balloon
and not looking where I was going. I'm afraid I hurt you."

He recovered his breath, saluted ceremoniously, readjusted his
overseas cap to the proper angle.

Then he said, civilly enough: "It was my fault entirely. It was I who
walked into you. I hope I didn't hurt you."

They smiled, unembarrassed.

"That was certainly a big dirigible," he ventured. "There are bigger
Zeps, of course."

"Are there really?"

"Oh, yes. But they're not much good in war, I believe."

She turned her trim, small head and looked out across the bay; and
Shotwell, who once had had a gaily receptive eye for pulchritude,
thought her unusually pretty.

Also, the steady keel of the _Elsinore_ was making him feel more human
now; and he ventured a further polite observation concerning the
pleasures of homecoming after extended exile.

She turned with a frank shake of her head: "It seems heartless to say
so, but I'm rather sorry I'm back," she said.

He smiled: "I must admit," he confessed, "that I feel the same way. Of
course I want to see my people. But I'd give anything to be in France
at this moment, and that's the truth!"

The girl nodded her comprehension: "It's quite natural," she remarked.
"One does not wish to come home until this thing is settled."

"That's it exactly. It's like leaving an interesting play half
finished. It's worse--it's like leaving an absorbing drama in which
you yourself are playing an exciting role."

She glanced at him--a quick glance of intelligent appraisal.

"Yes, it must have seemed that way to you. But I've been merely one
among a breathless audience..