THE CUP OF FURY

BOOKS BY RUPERT HUGHES

 The Cup of Fury The Unpardonable Sin We Can't Have Everything In a Little Town The Thirteenth Commandment Clipped Wings What Will People Say? The Last Rose of Summer Empty Pockets Long Ever Ago

HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK

Established 1817

[Illustration: "It would be nice to be married, " Marie Louise reflected, "if one could stay single at the same time. "]

THE CUP OF FURY

A Novel of Cities and Shipyards

BY RUPERT HUGHES

Author of "We Can't Have Everything" "The Unpardonable Sin" etc. 

ILLUSTRATED BY HENRY RALEIGH

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS

NEW YORK AND LONDON

THE CUP OF FURY

 Copyright, 1919, by Harper & Brothers Printed in the United States of America Published May, 1919

ILLUSTRATIONS

 "It would be nice to be married, " Marie Louise reflected, "if one could stay single at the same time. " Frontispiece Facing p. He tried to swing her to the pommel, but she fought herself free and came to the ground and was almost trampled. 3 "This is the life for me. I've been a heroine and a war-worker about as long as I can. " 75 "'It's beautiful overhead if you're going that way, '" Davidge quoted. He set out briskly, but Marie Louise hung back. "Aren't you afraid to push on when you can't see where you're going?" she demanded. 91 There was something hallowed and awesome about it all. It had a cathedral majesty. 166 How quaint a custom it is for people who know each other well and see each other in plain clothes every day to get themselves up with meticulous skill in the evening like Christmas parcels for each other's examination. 235 "So I have already done something more for Germany. That's splendid. Now tell me what else I can do. " Nicky was too intoxicated with his success to see through her thin disguise. 270 Nobody recognized the lily-like beauty of Miss Webling in the smutty-faced passer-boy crouching at Sutton's elbow. 282

BOOK I

IN LONDON

[Illustration: He tried to swing her to the pommel, but she foughtherself free and came to the ground and was almost trampled. ]

THE CUP OF FURY

CHAPTER I

Then the big door swung back as if of itself. Marie Louise had feltthat she would scream if she were kept a moment outside. The luxury ofsimply wishing the gate ajar gave her a fairy-book delight enhanced bythe pleasant deference of the footman, whose face seemed to be hung onthe door like a Japanese mask. 

Marie Louise rejoiced in the dull splendor of the hall. The obsoletegorgeousness of the London home had never been in good taste, but hadgrown as lovable with years as do the gaudy frumperies of a rich oldrelative. All the good, comfortable shelter of wealth won her blessingnow as never before. The stairway had something of the grand manner, too, but it condescended graciously to escort her up to her own room;and there, she knew, was a solitude where she could cry as hard as shewanted to, and therefore usually did not want to. Besides, her moodnow was past crying for. 

She was afraid of the world, afraid of the light. She felt thecave-impulse to steal into a deep nook and cower there till her heartshould be replenished with courage automatically, as ponds are fedfrom above. 

Marie Louise wanted walls about her, and stillness, and people shutout. She was in one of the moods when the soul longs to gather itsfaculties together in a family, making one self of all its selves. Marie Louise had known privation and homelessness and the perils theybring a young woman, and now she had riches and a father and motherwho were great people in a great land, and who had adopted her intotheir own hearts, their lives, their name. But to-day she askednothing more than a deep cranny in a dark cave. 

She would have said that no human voice or presence could be anythingbut a torture to her. And yet, when she hurried up the steps, she wassuddenly miraculously restored to cheerfulness by the tiny explosionof a child's laughter instantly quenched. She knew that she was aboutto be ambushed as usual. She must pretend to be completely surprisedonce more, and altogether terrified with her perfect regularity. 

Her soul had been so utterly surprised and terrified in the outerworld that this infantile parody was curiously welcome, since nothingkeeps the mind in balance on the tight-rope of sanity like thecounterweight that comedy furnishes to tragedy, farce to frenzy, andpuerility to solemnity. 

The children called her "Auntie, " but they were not hers exceptthrough the adoption of a love that had to claim some kinship. Theylooked like her children, though--so much so, indeed, that strangersthought that she was their young mother. But it was because she lookedlike their mother, who had died, that the American girl was a memberof this British household, inheriting some of its wealth and much ofits perilous destiny. 

She had been ambuscaded in the street to-day by demons not of faery, but of fact, that had leaped out at her from nowhere. It solaced hersomehow to burlesque the terror that had whelmed her, and, now thatshe was assailed by ruthless thugs of five and seven years, theshrieks she had not dared to release in the street she gave forth withvigor, as two nightgowned tots flung themselves at her withmilk-curdling cries of:

"Boo-ooh!"

Holding up pink fat hands for pistols, they snapped their thumbs ather and said:

"Bang! Bang!"

And she emitted most amusing squeals of anguish and staggered back, stammering:

"Oh, p-p-please, Mr. Robbobber and Miss Burgurgular, take my l-l-lifebut spare my m-m-money. "

She had been so genuinely scared before that she marred the sacredtext now, and the First Murderer, who had all the conservativeinstincts of childhood, had to correct her misquotation of the sacredformula:

"No, no, Auntie. Say, 'Take my money but spare my life!' Now we dot todo it all over. "

"I beg your pardon humbly, " she said, and went back to be ambushedagain. This time the boy had an inspiration. To murder and robbery hewould add scalping. 

But Marie Louise was tired. She had had enough of fright, real orfeigned, and refused to be scalped. Besides, she had been to thehairdresser's, and she explained that she really could not afford tobe scalped. The boy was bitterly disappointed, and he grew furiouswhen the untimely maid came for him and for his ruthless sister anddemanded that they come to bed at once or be reported. 

As the warriors were dragged off to shameful captivity, Marie Louise, watching them, was suddenly shocked by the thought of how early inlife humanity begins to revel in slaughter. The most innocent babesmust be taught not to torture animals. Cruelty comes with them like acaul, or a habit brought in from a previous existence. They alwaysalmost murder their mothers and sometimes quite slay them when theyare born. Their first pastimes are killing games, playing dead, stories of witches, cannibalistic ogres. The American Indian is theinternational nursery pet because of his traditional fiendishness. 

It seemed inconsistent, but it was historically natural that the boyinterrupted in his massacre of his beloved aunt should hang back tosquall that he would say his prayers only to her. Marie Louise glancedat her watch. She had barely time to dress for dinner, but thechildren had to be obeyed. She made one weak protest. 

"Fräulein hears your prayers. "

"But she's wented out. "

"Well, I'll hear them, then. "

"Dot to tell us fairy-'tory, too, " said the girl. 

"All right, one fairy-'tory--"

She went to the nursery, and the cherubs swarmed up to her lapdemanding "somefin bluggy. "

Invention failed her completely. She hunted through her memory amongthe Grimms' fairy-tales. She could recall nothing that seemed sweetand guileless enough for these two lambs. 

All that she could think of seemed to be made up of ghoulish plots;of children being mistreated by harsh stepmothers; of their beingturned over to peasants to slay; of their being changed into animalsor birds; of their being seized by wolves, or by giants that drankblood and crunched children's bones as if they were reed birds; ofhags that cut them up into bits or thrust them into ovens and cookedthem for gingerbread. It occurred to her that all the Germanfairy-stories were murderously cruel. She felt a revulsion againsteach of the legends. But her mind could not find substitutes. 

After a period of that fearful ordeal when children tyrannize forromances that will not come, her mind grew mutinous and balked. Sheconfessed her poverty of ideas. 

The girl, Bettina, sulked; the boy screamed:

"Aw, botheration! We might as well say our prayers and go to bed. "

In the least pious of moods they dropped from her knees to their ownand put their clasped hands across her lap. They became in a wayhallowed by their attitude, and the world seemed good to her again asshe looked down at the two children, beautiful as only children canbe, innocent of wile, of hardship and of crime, safe at home andpraying to their heavenly Father from whose presence they had sorecently come. 

But as she brooded over them motherly and took strength from them asmothers do, she thought of other children in other countries orphanedin swarms, starving in multitudes, waiting for food like flocks oflambs in the blizzard of the war. She thought still more vividly ofchildren flung into the ocean. She had seen these children at herknees fighting against bitter medicines, choking on them and blurtingthem out at mouth and nose and almost, it seemed, at eyes. So it wasvery vivid to her how children thrown into the sea must have gaggedwith terror at the bitter medicine of death, strangled and smotheredas they drowned. 

She heard the prayers mumbled through, but at the hasty "Amen" sheprotested. 

"You didn't thank God for anything. Haven't you anything to thank Godfor?"

If they had expressed any doubt, she would have told them of dozens ofspecial mercies, but almost instantly they answered, "Oh yes!" Theylooked at each other, understood, nodded, clapped their hands, andchuckled with pride. Then they bent their heads, gabled theirfinger-tips, and the boy said:

"We t'ank Dee, O Dod, for making sink dat old _Lusitania_. " And thegirl said, "A-men!"

Marie Louise gave a start as if she had been stabbed. It was the lossof the _Lusitania_ that had first terrified her. She had just seen itannounced on the placards of newsboys in London streets, and had fledhome to escape from the vision, only to hear the children thank Heavenfor it! She rose so suddenly that she flung the children back fromtheir knees to their haunches. They stared up at her in wonderingfear. She stepped outside the baleful circle and went striding up anddown the room, fighting herself back to self-control, telling herselfthat the children were not to blame, yet finding them the morerepulsive for their very innocence. The purer the lips, the viler theblasphemy. 

She was not able to restrain herself from denouncing them with all herferocity. She towered over them and cried out upon them: "You wicked, wicked little beasts, how dare you put such loathsome words into aprayer! God must have gasped with horror in heaven at the shame of it. Wherever did you get so hateful an idea?"

"Wicked your own self!" the boy snapped back. "Fräulein read it in thepaper about the old boat, and she walked up and down the room likewhat you do, and she said, '_Ach, unser_ Dott--how dood you are to us, to make sink dat _Lusitania_!'"

He was going on to describe her ecstasy, but Marie Louise broke in:"It's Fräulein's work, is it? I might have known that! Oh, the fiend, the harpy!"

The boy did not know what a harpy was, but he knew that his belovedFräulein was being called something, and he struck at Marie Louisefiercely, kicked at her shins and tried to bite her hands, screaming:"You shall not call our own precious Fräulein names. Harpy, your ownself!"

And the little girl struck and scratched and made a curdled face andechoed, "Harpy, your own self!"

It hurt Marie Louise so extravagantly to be hated by these irasciblecherubs that her anger vanished in regret. She pleaded: "But, mydarlings, you don't know what you are saying. The _Lusitania_ was abeautiful ship--"

The boy, Victor, was loyal always to his own: "She wasn't as beautifulas my yacht what I sail in the Round Pond. "

Marie Louise condescended to argue: "Oh yes, she was! She was a greatship, noble like Saint Paul's Cathedral, and she was loaded withpassengers, men and women and children: and then suddenly she wasripped open and sunk, and little children like you were thrown intothe water, into the deep, deep, deep ocean. And the big waves torethem from their mothers' arms and ran off with them, choking andstrangling them and dragging them down and down--forever down. "

She was dizzied by the horde of visions mobbing her brain. Then theonrush of horror was checked abruptly as she saw the supercilious ladregarding her frenzy calmly. His comment was:

"It served 'em jolly well right for bein' on 'at old boat. "

Marie Louise almost swooned with dread of such a soul. She shrank fromthe boy and groaned, "Oh, you toad, you little toad!"

He was frightened a little by her disgust, and he took refuge in ahigher authority. "Fräulein told us. And she knows. "

The bit lassiky stormed to his support: "She does so!" and drove ithome with the last nail of feminine argument: "So there now!"

Marie Louise retorted, weakly: "We'll see! We'll soon see!" And sherushed out of the room, like another little girl, straight to the doorof Sir Joseph, where she knocked impatiently. His man appeared andmurmured through a crevice: "Sorry, miss, but Seh Joseph isdressing. "

Marie Louise went to Lady Webling's door, and a maid came to whisper:"She is in her teb. We're having dinner at tome to-night, miss. "

Marie Louise nodded. Dinner must be served, and on time. It was theone remaining solemnity that must not be forgotten or delayed. 

She went to her own room. Her maid was in a stew about the hour, andthe gown that was to be put on. Marie Louise felt that black was theonly wear on such a Bartholomew's night. But Sir Joseph hated black sowell that he had put a clause in his will against its appearance evenat his own funeral. Marie Louise loved him dearly, but she feared hisprejudices. She had an abject terror of offending him, because shefelt that she owed everything she had, and was, to the whim of hisgood grace. Gratitude was a passion with her, and it doomed her, asall passions do, good or bad, to the penalties human beings pay forevery excess of virtue or vice--if, indeed, vice is anything but animmoderate, untimely virtue. 

CHAPTER II

Marie Louise let her maid select the gown. She was an exquisitepicture as she stood before the long mirror and watched the bucklingon of her armor, her armor of taffeta and velvet with the colors ofsunlit leaves and noon-warmed flowers in carefully elected wrinklesassured with many a hook and eye. Her image was radiant and pliant andaltogether love-worthy, but her thoughts were sad and stern. 

She was resolved that Fräulein should not remain in the house anothernight. She wondered that Sir Joseph had not ousted her from the familyat the first crash of war. The old crone! She could have posed for oneof the Grimms' most vulturine witches. But she had kept a civil tonguein her head till now; the children adored her, and Sir Joseph hadinfluence enough to save her from being interned or deported. 

Hitherto, Marie Louise had felt sorry for her in her dilemma of beingforced to live at peace in the country her own country was locked inwar with. Now she saw that the woman's oily diplomacy was only forpublic use, and that all the while she was imbruing the minds of thelittle children with the dye of her own thoughts. The innocentsnaturally accepted everything she told them as the essence of truth. 

Marie Louise hoped to settle the affair before dinner, but by the timeshe was gowned and primped, the first premature guest had arrived likethe rashest primrose, shy, surprised, and surprising. Sir Joseph hadgone below already. Lady Webling was hull down on the stairway. 

Marie Louise saw that her protest must wait till after the dinner, andshe followed to do her duty to the laws of hospitality. 

Sir Joseph liked to give these great affairs. He loved to eat and tosee others eat. "The more the merrier, " was his motto--one of themost truthless of the old saws. Little dinners at Sir Joseph's--whathe called "on fameals"--would have been big dinners elsewhere. A bigdinner was like a Lord Mayor's banquet. He needed only a crier at hisback and a Petronius to immortalize his _gourmandise_. 

To-night he had great folk and small fry. Nobody pretended to know thenames of everybody. Sir Joseph himself leaned heavily on the man whosang out the labels of the guests, and even then his wife whisperedthem to him as they came forward, and for a precaution, kept slippingthem into the conversation as reminders. 

There were several Americans present: a Doctor and Mrs. ClintonWorthing who had come over with a special shipload of nurses. The shiphad been fitted out by Mrs. Worthing, who had been Muriel Schuyler, daughter of the giant plutocrat, Jacob Schuyler, who was lendingEngland millions of money weekly. A little American millionaire, Willie Enslee, living in England now on account of some scandal in hispast, was there. He did not look romantic. 

Marie Louise had no genius for names, or faces, either. To-night shewas frightened, and she made some horrible blunders, greeting thegrisly Mr. Verrinder by the name of Mr. Hilary. The association wasclear, for Mr. Hilary had called Mr. Verrinder atrocious names inParliament; but it was like calling "Mr. Capulet" "Mr. Montague. "Marie Louise tried to redeem her blunder by putting on an extraeffusiveness for the sake of Mr. And Mrs. Norcross. Mrs. Norcross hadonly recently shaken off the name of Mrs. Patchett after a resoundingdivorce. So Marie Louise called her new husband by the name of herold, which made it very pleasant. 

Her wits were so badly dispersed that she gave up the attempt to takein the name of an American whom Lady Webling passed along to her as"Mr. Davidge, of the States. " And he must have been somebody ofimportance, for even Sir Joseph got his name right. Marie Louise, however, disliked him cordially at once--for two reasons: first, shehated herself so much that she could not like anybody just then; next, this American was entirely too American. He was awkward andindifferent, but not at all with the easy amble and patricianunconcern of an English aristocrat. 

Marie Louise was American-born herself, and humbly born, at that, butshe liked extreme Americanism never the more. Perhaps she was a bit ofa snob, though fate was getting ready to beat the snobbery out of her. And hers was an unintentional, superficial snobbery, at worst. Somepeople said she was affected and that she aped the swagger dialect. But she had a habit of taking on the accent and color of herenvironments. She had not been in England a month before she spokePiccadilly almost impeccably. She had caught French and Germanintonations with equal speed and had picked up music by ear with thesame amazing facility in the days when certain kinds of music were herlivelihood. 

In one respect her Englishness of accent was less an imitation or anaffectation than a certain form of politeness and modesty. When anEnglishwoman said, "Cahn't you?" it seemed tactless to answer, "No, Icann't. " To respond to "Good mawning" with "Good morrning" had theeffect of a contradiction or a correction. She had none of theshibboleth spirit that leads certain people to die or slay for apronunciation. The pronunciation of the people she was talking to wasgood enough for her. She conformed also because she hated to seepeople listening less to what she said than to the Yankee way she saidit. 

This man Davidge had a superb brow and a look of success, but he boredher before he reached her. She made ready for flight to some othergroup. Then he startled her--by being startled as he caught sight ofher. When Lady Webling transmitted him with a murmur of his name and atender, "My daughter, " Davidge stopped short and mumbled:

"I've had the pleasure of meeting you before, somewhere, haven't I?"

Marie Louise snubbed him flatly. "I think not. "

He took the slap with a smile. "Did I hear Lady Webling call you herdaughter?"

Marie Louise did not explain, but answered, curtly, "Yes, " with thearistocratic English parsimony that makes it almost "Yis. "

"Then you're right and I'm wrong. I beg your pardon. "

"Daon't mention it, " said Marie Louise, and drew closer to LadyWebling and the oncoming guest. She had the decency to reproachherself for being beastly to the stranger, but his name slipped atonce through the sieve of her memory. 

Destiny is the grandiose title we give to the grand total of a longcolumn of accidents when we stop to tot up the figures. So we waittill that strange sum of accidents which we call a baby is added upinto a living child of determined sex before we fasten a name thatchanges an it to a him or a her. 

The accidents that result in a love-affair, too, we look back on andoutline into a definite road, and we call that Fate. We are great forgiving names to selected fragments of the chaos of life. 

In after years Marie Louise and this man Davidge would see somethingmystic and intended in the meeting that was to be the detachedprologue of their after conflicts. They would quite misremember whatreally happened--which was, that she retained no impression of him atall, and that he called himself a fool for mixing her with a girl hehad met years and years before for just a moment, and had neverforgotten because he had not known her well enough to forget her. 

He had reason enough to distrust his sanity for staring at aresplendent creature in a London drawing-room and imagining for amoment that she was a long-lost, long-sought girl of old dreams--agirl he had seen in a cheap vaudeville theater in a Westernstate. She was one of a musical team that played all sorts ofinstruments--xylophones, saxophones, trombones, accordions, cornets, comical instruments concealed in hats and umbrellas. Thisgirl had played each of them in turn, in solo or with the rest ofthe group. The other mummers were coarse and vaude-vulgar, but shehad captivated Davidge with her wild beauty, her magnetism, andthe strange cry she put into her music. 

When she played the trombone she looked to him like one of the angelson a cathedral trumpeting an apocalyptic summons to the dead to bloomfrom their graves. When she played the cornet it was with a superhumantone that shook his emotions almost insufferably. She had sung, too, in four voices--in an imitation of a bass, a tenor, a contralto, andfinally as a lyric soprano, then skipping from one to the other. Theycalled her "Mamise, the Quartet in One. "

Davidge had thought her marvelous and had asked the manager of thetheater to introduce him. The manager thought him a young fool, andDavidge had felt himself one when he went back to the dingy stage, where he found Mamise among a troupe of trained animals waiting to goon. She was teasing a chittering, cigar-smoking trained ape on abicycle, and she proved to be an extraordinarily ordinary, painfullyplebeian girl, common in voice and diction, awkward and rathercontemptuous of the stage-door Johnnie. Davidge had never ceased toblush, and blushed again now, when he recalled his labored compliment, "I expect to see your name in the electric lights some of thesedays--or nights, Miss Mamise. "

She had grumbled, "Much ubbliged!" and returned to the ape, whileDavidge slunk away, ashamed. 

He had not forgotten that name, though the public had. He had neverseen "Mamise" in the electric lights. He had never found the name inany dictionary. He had supposed her to be a foreigner--Spanish, Polish, Czech, French, or something. He had not been able to judge hernationality from the two gruff words, but he had often wondered whathad happened to her. She might have been killed in a train wreck orbeen married to the ape-trainer or gone to some other horribleconclusion. He had pretty well buried her among his forgottenadmirations and torments, when lo and behold! she emerged from a crowdof peeresses and plutocrats in London. 

He had sprung toward her with a wild look of recognition before he hadhad time to think it over. He had been rebuffed by a cold glance andthen by an English intonation and a fashionable phrase. He decidedthat his memory had made a fool of him, and he stood off, humble andconfused. 

But his eyes quarreled with his ears, and kept telling him that thistall beauty who ignored him so perfectly, so haughtily, was really hislost Mamise. 

If men would trust their intuitions oftener they would not go wrong sooften, perhaps, since their best reasoning is only guesswork, afterall. It was not going to be destiny that brought Davidge and MarieLouise together again so much as the man's hatred of leaving anythingunfinished--even a dream or a vague desire. There was no shakingDavidge off a thing he determined on except as you shake off asnapping-turtle, by severing its body from its head. 

A little later Sir Joseph sought the man out and treated himrespectfully, and Marie Louise knew he must be somebody. She found himstaring at her over Sir Joseph's shoulder and puzzling about her. Andthis made her wretchedly uncomfortable, for perhaps, after all, shefretted, he had indeed met her somewhere before, somewhere in one ofthose odious strata she had passed through on her way up to the estateof being called daughter by Lady Webling. 

She forgot her misgivings and was restored to equanimity by theincursion of Polly Widdicombe and her husband. Polly was one of thebest-dressed women in the world. Her husband had the look of thehusband of the best-dressed woman in the world. Polly had a wiryvoice, and made no effort to soften it, but she was tremendouslysmart. She giggled all the time and set people off in her vicinity, though her talk was rarely witty on its own account. 

Laughter rippled all through her life. She talked of her griefs ina plucky, riant way, making eternal fun of herself as a giddy fool. She carried a delightful jocundity wherever she went. She wasaristocratic, too, in the postgraduate degree of being careless, reckless, superior even to good manners. She had a good heart andamiable feelings; these made manners enough. 

She had lineage as well, for her all-American family ran straight backinto the sixteen hundreds, which was farther than many a duke daredtrace his line. She had traveled the world; she had danced with kings, and had made two popes laugh and tweak her pointed chin. She wasn'tafraid of anybody, not even of peasants and servants, or of beingfriendly with them, or angry with them. 

Marie Louise adored her. She felt that it would make no difference toPolly's affection if she found out all there was to find out aboutMarie Louise. And yet Polly's friendship did not have the dullcertainty of indestructibility. Marie Louise knew that one word wrongor one act out of key might end it forever, and then Polly would beher loud and ardent enemy, and laugh at her instead of for her. Pollycould hate as briskly as she could love. 

She was in one of her vitriolic moods now because of the _Lusitania_. 

"I shouldn't have come to-night, " she said, "except that I want totalk to a lot of people about Germany. I want to tell everybody I knowhow much I loathe 'em all. 'The Hymn of Hate' is a lullaby to what Ifeel. "

Polly was also conducting a glorious war with Lady Clifton-Wyatt. LadyC. -W. Had bullied everybody in London so successfully that she wentstraight up against Polly Widdicombe without a tremor. She gotwhat-for, and everybody was delighted. The two were devoted enemiesfrom then on, and it was beautiful to see them come together. 

Lady Clifton-Wyatt followed Polly up the receiving line to-night andinvited a duel, but Polly was in no humor for a fight with anybody butGermans. She turned her full-orbed back on Lady C. -W. And, so tospeak, gnashed her shoulder-blades at her. Lady C. -W. Passed bywithout a word, and Marie Louise was glad to hide behind Polly, forMarie Louise was mortally afraid of Lady C. -W. 

She saw the American greet her as if he had met her before. LadyClifton-Wyatt was positively polite to him. He must be a very greatman. 

She heard Lady Clifton-Wyatt say something about, "How is the new shipcoming on?" and the American said, "She's doing as well as could beexpected. "

So he was a ship-builder. Marie Louise thought that his must be aheartbreaking business in these days when ships were being slaughteredin such numbers. She asked Polly and her husband if they knew him orhis name. 

Widdicombe shook his head. Polly laughed at her husband. "How do youknow? He might be your own mother, for all you can tell. Put on yourdistance-glasses, you poor fish. " She turned to Marie Louise. "Youknow how near-sighted Tom is. "

"An excellent fault in a man, " said Marie Louise. 

"Oh, I don't know, " said Polly. "You can't trust even the blind ones. And you'll notice that when Tom comes to one of these décolletédinners, he wears his reading-glasses. "

All this time Widdicombe was taking out his distance-glasses, taking off his reading-glasses and pouching them and putting themaway, and putting on his distance-glasses, and from force of habitputting their pouch away. Then he stared at Davidge, took off hisdistance-glasses, found the case with difficulty, put them up, pocketed them, and stood blearing into space while he searched forhis reading-glasses, found them, put the case back in his pocket andsaddled his nose with the lenses. 

Polly waited in a mockery of patience and said:

"Well, after all that, what?"

"I don't know him, " said Widdicombe. 

It was a good deal of an anticlimax to so much work. 

Polly said: "That proves nothing. Tom's got a near-memory, too. Theman's a pest. If he didn't make so much money, I'd abandon him on adoor-step. "

That was Polly's form of baby-talk. Everybody knew how she dotedon Tom: she called him names as one scolds a pet dog. Widdicombe hadthe helpless manner of one, and was always at heel with Polly. Buthe was a Titan financially, and he was signing his name now tomunitions-contracts as big as national debts. 

Marie Louise was summoned from the presence of the Widdicombes by oneof Lady Webling's most mysterious glances, to meet a new-comer whomLady Webling evidently regarded as a special treasure. Lady Weblingwas as wide as a screen, and she could always form a sort of alcove infront of her by turning her back on the company. She made such a nooknow and, taking Marie Louise's hand in hers, put it in the hand of thetall and staring man whose very look Marie Louise found invasive. Hishandclasp was somehow like an illicit caress. 

How strange it is that with so much modesty going about, people shouldbe allowed to wear their hands naked! The fashion of the last fewyears compelling the leaving off of gloves was not really very nice. Marie Louise realized it for the first time. Her fastidious right handtried to escape from the embrace of the stranger's fingers, but theyclung devil-fishily, and Lady Webling's soft cushion palm was thereconniving in the abduction. And her voice had a wheedling tone:

"This is my dear Nicky I have spoken of so much--Mr. Easton, youknow. "

"Oh yes, " said Marie Louise. 

"Be very nice to him, " said Lady Webling. "He is taking you out todinner. "

At that moment the butler appeared, solemn as a long-awaited priest, and there was such a slow crystallization as follows a cry of "Fallin!" to weary soldiers. The guests were soon in double file and on themarch to the battlefield with the cooks. 

Nicky Easton still had Marie Louise's hand; he had carried it up intothe crook of his right arm and kept his left hand over it for guard. Alady can hardly wrench loose from such an attention, but Marie Louiseabhorred it. 

Nicky treated her as a sort of possession, and she resented hiscourtesies. He began too soon with compliments. One hates to have evena bunch of violets jabbed into one's nose with the command, "Smell!"

She disliked his accent, too. There was a Germanic something in it asfaint as the odor of high game. It was a time when the least hint ofTeutonism carried the stench of death to British nostrils. 

Lady Webling and Sir Joseph were known to be of German birth, andtheir phrases carried the tang, but Sir Joseph had become anaturalized citizen ages ago and had won respect and affection adecade back. His lavish use of his money for charities and for greatindustries had won him his knighthood, and while there was a certainsniff of suspicion in certain fanatic quarters at the mention of hisname, those who knew him well had so long ago forgotten his alienbirth that they forgave it him now. 

As for Marie Louise, she no longer heeded the Prussic acid of hisspeech. She was as used to it as to his other little mannerisms. Shedid not think of the old couple as fat and awkward. She did notanalyze their attributes or think of their features in detail. Shethought of them simply as them. But Easton was new; he brought in asubtle whiff of the hated Germany that had done the _Lusitania_ todeath. 

The fate of the ship made the dinner resemble a solemn wake. Thetriumphs of the chef were but funeral baked meats. The feast wasbrilliant and large and long, and it seemed criminal to see such wasteof provender when so much of the world was hungry. The talk was almostall of the _Lusitania_ and the deep damnation of her taking off. Manyof the guests had crossed the sea in her graceful shell, and theyfelt a personal loss as well as a bitterness of rage at the worst ofthe German sea crimes. 

Davidge was seated remotely from Marie Louise, far down the flowerylane of the table. She could not see him at all, for the candles andthe roses. Just once she heard his voice in a lull. Its twang carriedit all the way up the alley:

"A man that would kill a passenger-ship would shoot a baby in itscradle. When you think how long it takes to build a ship, how muchwork she represents, how sweet she is when she rides out and allthat--by Gosh! there's no word mean enough for the skoundrels. There'snothing they won't do now--absolutely nothing. "

She heard no more of him, and she did not see him again that night. She forgot him utterly. Even the little wince of distress he gave herby his provincialism was forgotten in the anguish her foster-parentscaused her. 

For Marie Louise had a strange, an odious sensation that Sir Josephand Lady Webling were not quite sincere in their expressions of horrorand grief over the finished epic, the _Lusitania_. It was not for lackof language; they used the strongest words they could find. But therewas missing the subtile somewhat of intonation and gesture that actorscall sincerity. Marie Louise knew how hard it is even for a greatactor to express his simplest thoughts with conviction. No, it waswhen he expressed them best that he was least convincing, since anemotion that can be adequately presented is not a very big emotion; atleast it does not overwhelm the soul. Inadequacy, helplessness, gaucherie, prove that the feelings are bigger than the eloquence. They"get across the footlights" between each player on the human stage andhis audience. 

Yes, that was it: Sir Joseph and Lady Webling were protesting too welland too much. Marie Louise hated herself for even the disloyalty ofsuch a criticism of them, but she was repelled somehow by suchrhetoric, and she liked far better the dour silence of old Mr. Verrinder. He looked a bishop who had got into a layman's eveningdress by mistake. He was something very impressive and influential inthe government, nobody knew just what. 

Marie Louise liked still better than Verrinder's silence thedistracted muttering and stammering of a young English aviator, theMarquess of Strathdene, who was recuperating from wounds and was goingup in the air rapidly on the Webling champagne. He was maltreating hisbread and throwing in champagne with an apparent eagerness for theinevitable result. Before he grew quite too thick to be understood, hegroaned to himself, but loudly enough to be heard the whole length andbreadth of the table: "I remember readin' about old Greek witch nameCirce--changed human beings into shape of swine. I wonder who turnedthose German swine into the shape of human beings. "

Marie Louise noted that Lady Webling was shocked--by the vulgarity, nodoubt. "Swine" do not belong in dining-room language--only in theplatters or the chairs. Marie Louise caught an angry look also in theeye of Nicholas Easton, though he, too, had been incisive in hiscomments on the theme of the dinner. His English had been uncannilycorrect, his phrases formal with the exactitude of a book on syntax orthe dialogue of a gentleman in a novel. But he also was drinking toomuch, and as his lips fuddled he had trouble with a very formal"without which. " It resulted first as "veetowit veech, " then as"whidthout witch. " He made it on the third trial. 

Marie Louise, turning her eyes his way in wonder, encountered twoother glances moving in the same direction. Lady Webling lookedanxious, alarmed. Mr. Verrinder's gaze was merely studious. MarieLouise felt an odd impression that Lady Webling was sending a kind ofheliographic warning, while the look of Mr. Verrinder was like asearch-light that studies and registers, then moves away. 

Marie Louise disliked Easton more and more, but Lady Webling keptrecommending him with her solicitous manner toward him. She madeseveral efforts, too, to shift the conversation from the _Lusitania_;but it swung always back. Much bewilderment was expressed because theship was not protected by a convoy. Many wondered why she was whereshe was when she was struck, and how she came to take that course atall. 

Lady Clifton-Wyatt, who had several friends on board and was uncertainof their fate, was unusually fierce in blaming the government. Shealways blamed it for everything, when it was Liberal. And now shesaid:

"It was nothing short of murder to have left the poor ship to steal inby herself without protection. Whatever was the Admiralty thinking of?If the Cabinet doesn't fall for this, we might as well give up. "

The Liberals present acknowledged her notorious prejudices with a sighof resignation. But the Marquess of Strathdene rolled a foggy eye anda foggy tongue in answer:

"Darlling llady, there must have been war-ships waitin' to convoy the_Lusitania_; but she didn't come to rendezvous because why? Becausesome filthy Zherman gave her a false wireless and led her into atrap. "

This amazing theory with its drunken inspiration of plausibilitystartled the whole throng. It set eyeballs rolling in all directionslike a break in a game of pool. Everybody stared at Strathdene, thenat somebody else. Marie Louise's racing gaze noted that Mr. Verrinder's eyes went slowly about again, studying everybody exceptStrathdene. 

Lady Clifton-Wyatt's eyes as they ran simply expressed a disgust thatshe put into words with her usual frankness:

"Don't be more idiotic than necess'ry, my dear boy; there are secretcodes, you know. "

"S-secret codes I know? Secret codes the Germans know--that's what youmean, sweetheart. I don't know one little secret, but Huns-- Do youknow how many thousand Germans there are loose in England--do you?"

Lady Clifton-Wyatt shook her head impatiently. "I haven't the faintestnotion. Far more than I wish, I'm sure. "

"I hope so, unless you wish fifty thousand. And God knows how manymore. And I'm not alluthing to Germans in disguise, naturalizedGermans--quinine pills with a little coating. I'm not referring toyou, of course, Sir Joseph. Greates' respect for you. Ever'body has. You have done all you could to overcome the fatal error of yourparents. You're a splen'id gen'l'man. Your 'xception proves rule. EvenGermans can't all be perf'ly rotten. "

"Thank you, Marquess, thank you, " said Sir Joseph, with a naturalembarrassment. 

Marie Louise noted the slight difference between the English "Thankyou" and Sir Joseph's "Thang gyou. "

Then Lady Webling's eyes went around the table, catching up thewomen's eyes and forms, and she led them in a troop from theembarrassing scene. She brought the embarrassment with her to thedrawing-room, where the women sat about smoking miserably and waitingfor the men to come forth and take them home. 

CHAPTER III

There must have been embarrassment enough left to go round thedining-table, too, for in an unusually brief while the men flockedinto the drawing-room. And they began to plead engagements in officesor homes or Parliament. 

It was not yet ten o'clock when the last of the guests had gone, except Nicholas Easton. And Sir Joseph took him into his own study. Easton walked a trifle too solemnly straight, as if he had set himselfan imaginary chalk-line to follow. He jostled against the door, and ashe closed it, swung with it uncertainly. 

Lady Webling asked almost at once, with a nod of the head in thedirection of the study door:

"Well, my dear child, what do you think of Nicky?"

"Oh, I don't know. He's nice, but--"

"We're very fond of him, Sir Joseph and I--and we do hope you willbe. "

Marie Louise wondered if they were going to select a husband for her. It was a dreadful situation, because there was no compulsion exceptthe compulsion of obligation. They never gave her a chance to doanything for them; they were always doing things for her. What aningrate she would be to rebuff their first real desire! And yet tomarry a man she felt such antipathy for--surely there could be someless hateful way of obliging her benefactors. She felt like a castawayon a desert, and there was something of the wilderness in theimmensity of the drawing-room with its crowds of untenanted divans andof empty chairs drawn into groups as the departed guests had leftthem. 

Lady Webling stood close to Marie Louise and pressed for an answer. 

"You don't really dislike Nicky, do you?"

"N-o-o. I've not known him long enough to dislike him very well. "

She tried to soften the rebuff with a laugh, but Lady Webling sighedprofoundly and smothered her disappointment in a fond "Good night. "She smothered the great child, too, in a hugely buxom embrace. WhenMarie emerged she was suddenly reminded that she had not yet spoken toLady Webling of Fräulein Ernst's attack on the children's souls. Shespoke now. 

"There's one thing, mamma, I've been wanting to tell you all evening. Please don't let it distress you, but really I'm afraid you'll have toget rid of Fräulein. "

Lady Webling's voluminous yawn was stricken midway into a gasp. MarieLouise told her the story of the diabolical prayer. Lady Webling tookthe blow without reeling. She expressed shock, but again expressed ittoo perfectly. 

She promised to "reprimand the foolish old soul. "

"To reprimand her!" Marie Louise cried. "You won't send her away?"

"Send her away where, my child? Where should we send the poor thing?But I'll speak to her very sharply. It was outrageous of her. What ifthe children should say such things before other people? It would befrightful! Thank you for telling me, my dear. And now I'm for bed! Andyou should be. You look quite worn out. Coming up?"

Lady Webling laughed and glanced at the study door, implying andrejoicing in the implication that Marie Louise was lingering for alast word with Easton. 

Really she was trying to avoid climbing the long stairs with LadyWebling's arm about her. For the first time in her life she distrustedthe perfection of the old soul's motives. She felt like a Judas whenLady Webling offered her cheek for another good-night kiss. Then shepretended to read a book while she listened for Lady Webling's lastpuff as she made the top step. 

At once she poised for flight. But the study door opened and Eastoncame out. He was bending down to murmur into Sir Joseph's downcastcountenance. Easton was saying, with a tremulous emotion, "This is thebeginning of the end of England's control of the sea. "

Marie Louise almost felt that there was a quiver of eagerness ratherthan of dread in his tone, or that the dread was the awe of a horriblehope. 

Sir Joseph was brooding and shaking his head. He seemed to start as hesaw Marie Louise. But he smiled on her dotingly and said:

"You are not gone to bed yet?"

She shook her head and sorrowed over him with a sudden rush ofgratitude to his defense. She did not reward Easton's smile with anyfavor, though he widened his eyes in admiration. 

Sir Joseph said: "Good night, Nicky. It is long before I see you somemore. "

Nicholas nodded. "But I shall see Miss Marie Louise quite soon now. "

This puzzled Marie Louise. She pondered it while Nicky bent and kissedher hand, heaved a guttural, gluttonous "Ah!" and went his way. 

It was nearly a week later before she had a clue to the riddle. ThenSir Joseph came home to luncheon unexpectedly. He had an envelope withhim, sealed with great red buttons of wax. He asked Marie Louise intohis office and said, with an almost stealthy importance:

"My darling, I have a little favor to ask of you. Sometimes, you see, when I am having a big dealing on the Stock Exchange I do not likethat everybody knows my business. Too many people wish to know all Ido, so they can be doing the same. What everybody knows helps nobody. It is my wish to get this envelope to a man without somebody findingout something. Understand?"

"Yes, papa!" Marie Louise answered with the utmost confidence thatwhat he did was good and wise and straight. She experienced a qualmwhen Sir Joseph explained that Nicky was the man. She wondered why hedid not come to the house. Then she rebuked herself for presuming toquestion Sir Joseph's motives. He had never been anything but good toher, and he had been so whole-heartedly good that for her to givethought-room to a suspicion of him was heinous. 

He had business secrets and stratagems of tremendous financial moment. She had known him to work up great drives on the market and to use allsorts of people to prepare his attacks. She did not understand bigbusiness methods. She regarded them all with childlike bewilderment. When, then, Sir Joseph asked her to meet Nicky, as if casually, inRegent's Park, and convey the envelope from her hand to Nicky'swithout any one's witnessing the transfer, she felt the elation of achild intrusted with an important errand. So she walked all the way toRegent's Park with the long strides of a young woman out for aconstitutional. She found a bench where she was told to, and sat downto bask in the spring air, and wait. 

By and by Easton sauntered along, lifted his hat to Marie Louise, andmade a great show of surprise. She rose and gave him her hand. She hadtaken the precaution to wear gloves--also she had the envelope in herhand. She left it in Nicky's. He smuggled it into his coat pocket, andmurmuring, "So sorry I can't stop, " lifted his hat and hurried off. 

Marie Louise sat down again and after a time resumed her constitutional. 

Sir Joseph was full of thanks when she saw him at night. 

Some days later he asked Marie Louise to meet Nicky outside a BondStreet shop. She was to have a small parcel and drop it. Nicky wouldstoop and pick it up and hand her in its stead another of similarwrapper. She was to thank him and come home. 

Another day Marie Louise received from Sir Joseph a letter and arequest to take the children with her for a long walk, ending at theRound Pond in Kensington Gardens. The children carried their privatenavies with them and squatted at the brim of the huge basin, pokingtheir reluctant yachts to sea. The boy Victor perfected a wonderfulscheme for using a long stick as a submarine. He thrust his arm underwater and from a distance knocked his sister's sailboat about till itscanvas was afloat and it filled and sank. All the while he wore themost distant of expressions, but canny little Bettina soon realizedwho had caused this catastrophe and how, and she went for Victor ofthe U-stick with finger-nails and feet and nearly rounded him into thetoy ocean. It evidently made a difference whose ship was gored. 

Marie Louise darted forward to save Victor from a ducking as well as atrouncing, and nearly ran over a man who was passing. 

It was Ross Davidge, whiling away an hour between appointments. Hethought he recognized Marie Louise, but he was not sure. Women in themorning look so unlike their evening selves. He dared not speak. 

Davidge lingered around trying to get up the courage to speak, butMarie Louise was too distraught with the feud even to see him when shelooked at him. She would not have known him, anyway. 

Davidge was confirmed in his guess at her identity by the appearanceof the man he had seen at her side at the dinner. But the confirmationwas Davidge's exile, for the fellow lifted his hat with a look ofgreat surprise and said to Marie Louise, "Fancy finding you heah!"

"Blah!" said Davidge to himself, and went on about his business. 

Marie Louise did not pretend surprise at seeing Easton, but went onscolding Victor and Bettina. 

"If any of these other boys catch you playing submarine they'llsubmarine you!"

And she brought the proud Bettina to book with a, "You were so gladthe _Lusitania_ was sunk, you see now how it feels!"

She felt the puerile incongruity of the rebuke, but it sufficed tosend Bettina into a cyclone of grief. She was already one of thosewho are infinitely indifferent to the sufferings of others andinfinitesimally sensitive to their own. 

When Nicky heard the story he gave Marie Louise a curious look ofdisapproval and took Bettina into his lap. She was also already one ofthose ladies who find a man's lap an excellent consolation. He got ridof her adroitly and when she and Victor were once more engaged innavigation Nicky took up the business he had come for. 

"May I stop a moment?" he said, and sat down. 

"I have a letter for you, " said Marie Louise. 

His roving eyes showed him that the coast was clear, and he slipped aletter into her hand-bag which she opened, and from it he took theletter she cautiously disclosed. He chatted awhile and moved away. 

This sort of meeting took place several times in several places. Whenthe crowds were too great or a bobby loitered about, Nicky wouldmurmur to Marie Louise that she had better start home. He would takeher arm familiarly and the transfer of the parcel would be deftlyachieved. 

This messenger service went on for several weeks. Sir Josephapologized for the trouble he gave Marie Louise. He seemed to besincerely unhappy about it, and his little eyes in their fat, waterybags peered at her with a tender regret and an ulterior regret aswell. 

He explained a dozen times that he sent her because it was such animportant business and he had no one else to trust. And Marie Louise, for all her anxiety, was sadly glad of his confidence, regarded it assacred, and would not violate it so much as to make the least effortto learn what messages she was carrying. Nothing, of course, wouldhave been easier than to pry open one of these envelopes. Sometimesthe lapel was hardly sealed. But she would as soon have peeked into abathroom. 

Late in June the Weblings left town and settled in the great countryseat Sir Joseph had bought from a bankrupt American who had bought itfrom nobility gone back to humility. Here life was life. There wereforests and surreptitious pheasants, deer that would almost but neverquite come to call, unseen nightingales that sang from lofty nave andtransept like cherubim all wings and voice. 

The house was usually full of guests, but they were careful not tointrude upon their hosts nor their hosts upon them. The life was likelife at a big hotel. There was always a little gambling to be had, tennis, golf, or music, or a quiet chat, gardens to stroll and sniffor grub in, horses to ride, motors at beck and call, solitude orcompany. 

Lady Clifton-Wyatt came down for a week-end and struck up a greatfriendship with the majestic Mrs. Prothero from Washington, D. C. , sogrand a lady that even Lady C. -W. Was a bit in awe of her, so graciousa personage that even Lady C. -W. Could not pick a quarrel with her. 

Mrs. Prothero gathered Marie Louise under her wing and urged her tovisit her when she came to America. But Polly Widdicombe had alreadypledged Marie Louise to make her home her own on that side of the sea. Polly came down, too, and had "the time of her young life" in doing abit of the women's war work that became the beautiful fashion of thetime. The justification of it was that it released men for thetrenches, but Polly insisted that it was shamefully good sport. 

She and Marie Louise went about in breeches and shirts and worked likehostlers around the stables and in the paddocks, breaking colts andmucking out stalls. They donned the blouses and boots of peasants, andworked in the fields with rake and hoe and harrow. They even tried theplow, but they followed it too literally, and the scallopy furrowsthey drew across the fields made the yokels laugh or grieve, accordingto their natures. 

The photographers were alive to the piquancy of these revelations, andportraits of Marie Louise in knickers and puttees, and armed withagricultural weapons, appeared in the pages of all the weeklies alongwith other aristocrats and commoners. Some of these even reachedAmerica. 

There was just one flaw for Rosalind in this "As You Like It" life andthat was the persistence of the secret association with Nicky. It wasthe strangest of clandestine affairs. 

Marie Louise had always liked to get out alone in a saddle or behindthe wheel of a runabout, and Sir Joseph, when he came up from town, fell into the habit of asking her once in a while to take anotherlittle note to Nicky. 

She found him in out-of-the-way places. He would step from a clump ofbushes by the road and hail her car, or she would overtake him andoffer him a lift to his inn, or she would take horse and gallop acrosscountry and find him awaiting her in some lonely avenue or in thetwist of a ravine. 

He was usually so preoccupied and furtive that he made no proffer ofcourtship; but once when he seemed peculiarly triumphant he rode soclose to her that their knees girded and their spurs clashed, and hetried to clip her in his arms. She gathered her horse and let him go, and he plunged ahead so abruptly that the clinging Nicky dragged MarieLouise from her saddle backward. He tried to swing her to the pommelof his own, but she fought herself free and came to the ground and wasalmost trampled. She was so rumpled and so furious, and he sofrightened, that he left her and spurred after her horse, brought himback, and bothered her no more that day. 

"If you ever annoy me again, " she said, "it'll be the last you'll seeof me. "

She was too useful to be treated as a mere beauty, and she had himcowed. 

It was inevitable that Marie Louise, being silently urged to loveNicky, should helplessly resist the various appeals in his behalf. 

There is no worse enemy to love than recommendation. There issomething froward about the passion. It hangs back like a fretfulchild, loathing what is held out for its temptation, longing for theforbidden, the sharp, the perilous. 

Next to being asked to love, trying to love is the gravest impediment. Marie Louise kept telling herself that she ought to marry Nicky, andherself kept refusing to obey. 

From very perversity her heart turned to other interests. She wasdesperately in love with soldiers _en masse_ and individually. Therewas safety in numbers and a canceling rivalry between those who weregoing out perhaps to death and those who had come back from the jawsof death variously the worse for the experience. 

The blind would have been irresistible in their groping need ofcomfort, if there had not been the maimed of body or mind putting outtheir incessant pleas for a gramercy of love. Those whose wounds werehideous took on an uncanny beauty from their sacrifice. 

She busied herself about them and suffered ecstasies of pity. 

She wanted to go to France and get near to danger, to help the freshlywounded, to stanch the spouting arteries, to lend courage to the soulsdismayed by the first horror of the understanding that thenceforththey must go through life piecemeal. 

But whenever she made application she met some vague rebuff. Herappeals were passed on and on and the blame for their failure wasreferred always to some remote personage impossible to reach. 

Eventually it dawned on her that there was actually an officialintention to keep her out of France. This stupefied her for a time. One day it came over her that she was herself suspect. This seemedridiculous beyond words in view of her abhorrence of the German causein large and in detail. Ransacking her soul for an explanation, sheran upon the idea that it was because of her association with theWeblings. 

She was ashamed to have given such a thought passage through her mind. But it came back as often as she drove it out and then the thoughtbegan to hover about her that perhaps the suspicion was not so insaneas she believed. The public is generally unreasonable, but itsintuitions, like a woman's, are the resultants of such complexinstincts that they are above analysis. 

But the note-carrying went on, and she could not escape from thesuspicion or its shadow of disgrace. Like a hateful buzzard it wasalways somewhere in her sky. 

Once the suspicion had domiciled itself in her world, it wasincessantly confirmed by the minutiæ of every-day existence. Theinterchange of messages with Nicky Easton grew unexplainable on anyother ground. The theory of secret financial dealings lookedludicrous; or if the dealings were financial, they must be some of thetrading with the enemy that was so much discussed in the papers. 

She felt that she had been conniving in one of the spy-plots that allthe Empire was talking about. She grew afraid to the last degree offear. She saw herself on the scaffold. She resolved to carry no moremessages. 

But the next request of Sir Joseph's found her complying automatically. It had come to be her habit to do what he asked her to do, and to takepride in the service as a small installment on her infinite debt. Andevery time her resentment rose to an overboiling point, Sir Joseph orLady Webling would show her some exquisite kindness or do some greatpublic service that won commendation from on high. 

One day when she was keyed up to protest Lady Webling dischargedFräulein Ernst for her pro-Germanism and engaged an English nurse. Another day Lady Webling asked her to go on a visit to a hospital. There she lavished tenderness on the British wounded and ignored theGerman. How could Marie Louise suspect her of being anti-British?Another time when Marie Louise was almost ready to rebel she saw SirJoseph's name heading a war subscription, and that night he made, at apublic meeting, a speech denouncing Germany in terms of vitriol. 

After all, Marie Louise was not English. And America was stillneutral. The President had wrung from Germany a promise of betterbehavior, and in a sneaking way the promise was kept, with many aviolation quickly apologized for. 

Still, England wrestled for her life. There seemed to be hardly roomin the papers for the mere names of the dead and the wounded, andthose still more pitiable ones, the missing. 

Marie Louise lost many a friend, and all of her friends lost and lost. She wore herself out in suffering for others, in visiting the sick, the forlorn, the anxious, the newly bereaved. 

The strain on Marie Louise's heart was the more exhausting because shehad a craven feeling all the while that perhaps she was being usedsomehow as a tool for the destruction of English plans and men. Shetried to get the courage to open one of those messages, but she wasafraid that she might find confirmation. She made up her mind againand again to put the question point-blank to Sir Joseph, but hertongue faltered. If he were guilty, he would deny it; if he wereinnocent, the accusation would break his heart. She hated Nicky toomuch to ask him. He would lie in any case. 

She was nagged incessantly by a gadfly of conscience that buzzed inher ears the counsel to tell the police. Sometimes on her way to atryst with Easton a spirit in her feet led her toward a policestation, but another spirit carried her past, for she would visualizethe sure consequences of such an exposure. If her suspicions werefalse, she would be exposed as a combination of dastard and dolt. Ifthey were true, she would be sending Sir Joseph and Lady Weblingperhaps to the gallows. 

To betray those who had been so angelic to her was simply unthinkable. 

Irresolution and meditation made her a very Hamlet of postponement andinaction. Hamlet had only a ghost for counselor, and a mother to bethe first victim of his rashness. No wonder he hesitated. And MarieLouise had only hysterical suspicion to account for her thoughts; andthe victims of her first step would be the only father and mother shehad ever really known. America itself was another Hamlet of debate andindecision, weighing evidences, pondering theories, deferring thesword, hoping that Germany would throw away the baser half. And allthe while time slid away, lives slid away, nations fell. 

In the autumn the town house was opened again. There was much thinlyveiled indignation in the papers and in the circulation of gossipbecause of Sir Joseph's prominence in English life. The Germans wereso relentless and so various in their outrages upon even the cruelusages of combat that the sound of a German name grew almostunbearable. People were calling for Sir Joseph's arrest. Othersscoffed at the cruelty and cowardice of such hysteria. 

A once-loved prince of German blood had been frozen out of the navy, and the internment camps were growing like boom towns. Yet otherGermans somehow were granted an almost untrammeled freedom, andthousands who had avoided evil activity were tolerated throughout thewar. 

Sir Joseph kept retorting to suspicion with subscription. He tookenormous quantities of the government loans. His contributions to theRed Cross and the multitudinous charities were more like endowmentsthan gifts. How could Marie Louise be vile enough to suspect him?

Yet in spite of herself she resolved at last to refuse furthermessenger service. Then she learned that Nicky had left England andgone to America on most important financial business of a mostconfidential nature. 

Marie Louise was too glad of her release to ask questions. Sherejoiced that she had not insulted her foster-parents with mutiny, andshe drudged at whatever war work the committees found for her. Theyfound nothing very picturesque, but the more toilsome her labor wasthe more it served for absolution of any evil she might have done. 

And now that the dilemma of loyalty was taken from her soul, her bodysurrendered weakly. She had time to fall ill. It was enough that shegot her feet wet. Her convalescence was slow even in the high hills ofMatlock. 

The winter had passed, and the summer of 1916 had come before MarieLouise was herself. The Weblings had moved out to the country again;the flowers were back in the gardens; the deer and the birds were intheir summer garb and mood. But now the house guests were all woundedsoldiers and nurses. Sir Joseph had turned over his estate for a warhospital. 

Lady Webling went among her visitors like a queen making her rounds. Sir Joseph squandered money on his distinguished company. Marie Louisejoined them and took what comfort she could in such diminution of painand such contributions of war power as were permitted her. Those werethe only legitimate happinesses in the world. 

The tennis-courts were peopled now with players glad of one arm or oneeye or even a demodeled face. On the golf-links crutched men hobbled. The horses in the stables bore only partial riders. The card-partieswere squared by players using hands made by hand. The music-roomresounded with five-finger improvisations and with vocalists who hadlittle but their voices left. They howled, "Keep your head down, Fritzie boy, " or, "We gave them hell at Neuve Chapelle, and here weare and here we are again, " or moaned love-songs with a sardonicirony. 

And the guests at tea! And the guests who could not come to tea!

Young Hawdon was there. "Well, Marie Louise, " he had said, "I'm backfrom France, but not _in toto_. Fact is, I'm neither here nor there. Quite a sketchy party you have. But we'll charge it all to Germany, and some day we'll collect. Some day! Some day!" And he burst intosong. 

The wonder was that there was so much bravery. At times there washilarity, but it was always close to tears. 

The Weblings went back to London early and took Marie Louise withthem. She wanted to stay with the poor soldiers, but Sir Joseph saidthat there was just as much for her to do in town. There was no lackof poor soldiers anywhere. Besides, he needed her, he said. This sether heart to plunging with the old fear. But he was querulous andirascible nowadays, and Lady Webling begged her not to excite him, forshe was afraid of a paralysis. He had the look of a Damocles livingunder the sword. 

The news from America was more encouraging to England and to theAmericans in England. German spies were being arrested with amazingfrequence. Ambassadors were floundering in hot water and setting up alarge traffic in return-tickets. Even the trunks of certain"Americans" were searched--men and women who were amazed to learn thatcurious German documents had got mixed up in their own effects. Somemost peculiar checks and receipts turned up. 

It was shortly after a cloudy account of one of these trunk-raids hadbeen published in the London papers that Sir Joseph had his firststroke of paralysis. 

Sir Joseph was in pitiful case. His devotion to Marie Louise washeartbreaking. Her sympathy had not been exhausted, but schooledrather by its prolonged exercise, and she gave the forlorn old wretcha love and a tenderness that had been wrought to a fine art withoutlosing any of its spontaneous reality. 

At first he could move only a bit of the great bulk, sprawled like asnowdrift under the sheet. He was helpless as a shattered soldier, butslowly he won back his faculties and his members. The doors that wereshut between his brain and his powers opened one by one, and he becamea man again. 

The first thing he wrote with his rediscovered right hand was hissignature to a document his lawyer brought him after a consultation. It was a transfer of twenty thousand pounds in British war bonds, "forservices rendered and other valuable considerations, " to his deardaughter Marie Louise Webling. 

When the warrant was handed to her with the bundle of securities, Marie Louise was puzzled, then shocked as the old man explained withhis still uncertain lips. When she understood, she rejected the giftwith horror. Sir Joseph pleaded with her in a thick speech that hadrelapsed to an earlier habit. 

"I am theenkink how close I been by dyink. Du bist--zhoo are in myvwill, of coorse, but a man says, 'I vwill, ' and some heirs says, 'Youvwon't yet!' Better I should make sure of somethink. "

"But I don't want money, papa--not like this. And I won't have youspeak of wills and such odious things. "

"You have been like our own daughter only more obeyink as poor Hedwig. You should not make me sick by to refuse. "

She could only quiet him by accepting the wealth and bringing him thereceipt for its deposit in a safe of her own. 

When he was once more able to hoist his massive body to its feet andto walk to his own door, he said:

"_Mein_--my _Gott_! Look at the calendar once. It is nineteenseventeen already. "

He ceased to be that simple, primitive thing, a sick man; he becameagain the financier. She heard of him anew on war-industry boards. Shesaw his name on lists of big subscriptions. He began to talk anew ofNicky, and he spoke with unusual anxiety of U-boats. He hoped thatthey would have a bad week. There was no questioning his sincerity inthis. 

And one evening he came home in a womanish flurry. He pinched the earof Marie Louise and whispered to her:

"Nicky is here in England--safe after the sea voyage. Be a nize girl, and you shall see him soon now. "

CHAPTER IV

The next morning Marie Louise, waking, found her windows opaque withfog. The gardens she usually looked over, glistening green all winterthrough, were gone, and in their place was a vast bale of sooty cottonpacked so tight against the glass that her eyes could not pierce tothe sill. 

Marie Louise went down to breakfast in a room like a smoky tunnelwhere the lights burned sickly. She was in a murky and suffocatinghumor, but Sir Joseph was strangely content for the hour and the air. He ate with the zest of a boy on a holi-morn, and beckoned her intohis study, where he confided to her great news:

"Nicky telephoned me. He brings wonderful news out of America. Bigbusiness he has done. He cannot come yet by our house, for evenservants must not see him here. So you shall go and meet him. You takeyour own little car, and go most careful till you find Hyde Park gate. Inside you stop and get out to see if something is matter with theengine. A man is there--Nicky. He steps in the car. You get in anddrive slowly--so slowly. Give him this letter--put in bosom of dressnot to lose. He tells you maybe something, and he gives you envelope. Then he gets out, and you come home--but carefully. Don't let one ofthose buses run you over in the fog. I should not risk you if not mostimportant. "

Marie Louise pleaded illness, and fear of never finding the place. ButSir Joseph stared at her with such wonder and pain that she yieldedhastily, took the envelope, folded it small, thrust it into her chestpocket and went out to the garage, where she could hardly bully thechauffeur into letting her take her own car. He put all the curtainson, and she pushed forth into obfuscation like a one-man submarine. There was something of the effect of moving along the floor of thesea. The air was translucent, a little like water-depths, buteverything was a blur. 

Luck was with her. She neither ran over nor was run over. But she wasso tardy in finding the gate, and Nicky was so damp, so chilled, andso uneasy with the apparitions and the voices that had haunted him inthe fog that he said nothing more cordial than:

"At last! So you come!"

He climbed in, shivering with cold or fear. And she ran the car alittle farther into the nebulous depths. She gave him the letter fromSir Joseph and took from him another. 

Nicky did not care to tarry. 

"I should get back to my house with this devil's cold I've caught, " hesaid. "Do you still have no sun in this bedamned England?"

The "you" struck Marie Louise as odd coming from a professedEnglishman, even if he did lay the blame for his accent on years spentin German banking-houses. 

"How did you find the United States?" Marie Louise asked, with asudden qualm of homesickness. 

"Those United States! Ha! United about what? Money!"

"I think you can get along better afoot, " said Marie Louise, as shemade a turn and slipped through the pillars of the gate. 

"_Au revoir!_" said Nicky, and he dived out, slamming the door back ofhim. 

That night there was one of Sir Joseph's dinners. But almost nobodycame, except Lieutenant Hawdon and old Mr. Verrinder. Sir Joseph andLady Webling seemed more frightened than insulted by the last-momentregrets of the guests. Was it an omen?

It was not many days before Sir Joseph asked Marie Louise to carryanother envelope to Nicky. She went out alone, shuddering in the wetand edged air. She found the bench agreed on, and sat waiting, cravenand mutinous. Nicky did not come, but another man passed her, lookedsearchingly, turned and came back to murmur under his lifted hat:

"Miss Webling?"

She gave him her stingiest "Yis. "

"Mr. Easton asked me to meet you in his place, and explain. "

"He is not coming?"

"He can't. He is ill. A bad cold only. He has a letter for you. Haveyou one for him?"

Marie Louise liked this man even less than she would have liked Nickyhimself. She was alarmed, and showed it. The stranger said:

"I am Mr. Von Gröner, a frient of--of Nicky's. "

Marie Louise vibrated between shame and terror. But von Gröner'scredentials were good; it was surely Nicky's hand that had penned thelines on the envelope. She took it reluctantly and gave him the lettershe carried. 

She hastened home. Sir Joseph was in a sad flurry, but he accepted thetestimony of Nicky's autograph. 

The next day Marie Louise must go on another errand. This time herenvelope bore the name of Nicky and the added line, "_Kindness of Mr. Von Gröner. _"

Von Gröner tried to question Marie Louise, but her wits were in anabsolute maelstrom of terror. She was afraid of him, afraid thathe represented Nicky, afraid that he did not, afraid that he was areal German, afraid that he was a pretended spy, or an Englishsecret-service man. She was afraid of Sir Joseph and his wife, afraidto obey them or disobey them, to love them or hate them, betray themor be betrayed. She had lost all sense of direction, of impetus, of desire. 

She saw that Sir Joseph and Lady Webling were in a state of panic, too. They smiled at her with a wan pity and fear. She caught themwhispering often. She saw them cling together with a devotion thatwould have been a burlesque in a picture seen by strangers. It wouldhave been almost as grotesque as a view of a hippopotamus and his matecowering hugely together and nuzzling each other under the menace of alightning-storm. 

Marie Louise came upon them once comparing the envelope she had justbrought with other letters of Nicky's. Sir Joseph slipped them into abook, then took one of them out cautiously and showed it to MarieLouise. 

"Does that look really like the writing from Nicky?"

"Yes, " she said, then, "No, " then, "Of course, " then, "I don't know. "

Lady Webling said, "Sit down once, my child, and tell me just how thisman von Gröner does, acts, speaks. "

She told them. They quizzed her. She was afraid that they would takeher into their confidence, but they exchanged querying looks andsignaled caution. 

Sir Joseph said: "Strange how long Nicky stays sick, and hismemory--little things he mixes up. I wonder is he dead yet. Whoknows?"

"Dead?" Marie Louise cried. "Dead, and sends you letters?"

"Yes, but such a funny letter this last one is. I think I write himonce more and ask him is he dead or crazy, maybe. Anyway, I think Idon't feel so very good now--mamma and I take maybe a little journey. You come along with, yes?"

A rush of desperate gratitude to the only real people in her world ledher to say:

"Whatever you want me to do is what I want to do--or wherever to go. "

Lady Webling drew her to her breast, and Sir Joseph held her hand inone of his and patted it with the flabby other, mumbling:

"Yes, but what is it we want you to do?"

From his eyes came a scurry of tears that ran in panic among the foldsof his cheeks. He shook them off and smiled, nodding and still pattingher hand as he said:

"Better I write one letter more for Mr. Von Gröner. I esk him to comehimself after dark to-night now. "

Marie Louise waited in her room, watching the sunlight die out of thewest. She felt somehow as if she were a prisoner in the Tower, aprincess waiting for the morrow's little visit to the scaffold. Or didthe English shoot women, as Edith Cavell had been shot?

There was a knock at the door, but it was not the turnkey. It was thebutler to murmur, "Dinner, please. " She went down and joined mamma andpapa at the table. There were no guests except Terror and Suspense, and both of them wore smiling masks and made no visible sign of theirpresence. 

After dinner Marie Louise had her car brought round to the door. Therewas nothing surprising about that. Women had given up the ancientpretense that their respectability was something that must be policedby a male relative or squire except in broad daylight. Neither vicenor malaria was believed any longer to come from exposure to the nightair; nor was virtue regarded like a sum of money that must not berisked by being carried about alone after dark. It had been easyenough to lose under the old régime. 

So Marie Louise launched out in her car much as a son of the familymight have done. She drove to a little square too dingily middle classto require a policeman. She sounded her horn three squawks and swungopen the door, and a man waiting under an appointed tree stepped fromits shadow and into the shadow of the car before it stopped. Shedropped into high speed and whisked out of the square. 

"You have for me a message, " said Mr. Von Gröner. 

"Yes. Sir Joseph wants to see you. "

"Me?"

"Yes--at the house. We'll go there at once if you please. "

"Certainly. Delighted. But Nicky--I ought to telephone him I shall begone. "

"Nicky is well enough to telephone?"

"Not to come to the telephone, but there is a servant. If you willplease stop somewhere. I shall be a moment only. "

Marie Louise felt that she ought not to stop, but she could hardlykidnap the man. So she drew up at a shop and von Gröner left her, herheart shaking her with a faint tremor like that of the engine of hercar. 

Von Gröner returned promptly, but he said: "I think we should not gotoo straight to your father's house. Might be we are followed. We cantell soon. Go in the park, please, and suddenly stop, turn round, andI look at what cars follow. "

She let him command her. She was letting everybody command her; shehad no destination, no North Star in her life. Von Gröner kept herdodging about Regent's Park till she grew angry. 

"This seems rather silly, doesn't it? I am going home. Sir Joseph hasworries enough without--"

"Ah, he has worries?"

She did not answer. The eagerness in his voice did not please her. Hekept up a rain of questions, too, but she answered them all byreferring him to Sir Joseph. 

At last they reached the house. As they got out, two men closed in onthe car and peered into their faces. Von Gröner snapped at them, andthey fell back. 

Marie Louise had taken along her latchkey. She opened the door herselfand led von Gröner to Sir Joseph's room. 

As she lifted her hand to knock she heard Lady Webling weepingfrantically, crying out something incoherent. Marie Louise fell backand motioned von Gröner away, but he pushed the door open and, takingher by the elbow, thrust her forward. 

Lady Webling stopped short with a wail. Sir Joseph, who had beentrying to quiet her by patting her hand, paused with his palmuplifted. 

Before Marie Louise could speak she saw that the old couple was notalone. By the mantel stood Mr. Verrinder. By the door, almost touchingMarie Louise, was a tall, grim person she had not seen. He closed thedoor behind von Gröner and Marie Louise. 

Mr. Verrinder said, "Be good enough to sit down. " To von Gröner hesaid, "How are you, Bickford?"

CHAPTER V

Sir Joseph was staring at the new-comer, and his German nativity toldhim what Marie Louise had not been sure of, that von Gröner was noGerman. When Verrinder gave him an English name it shook Marie Louisewith a new dismay. Sir Joseph turned from the man to Marie Louise anddemanded:

"Marie Louise, you ditt not theenk this man is a Cherman?"

This one more shame crushed Marie Louise. She dropped into a chair, appealing feebly to the man she had retrieved:

"Your name is not von Gröner?"

Bickford grinned. "Well, in a manner of speakin'. You might say it'smy pen-name. Not that I've ever been in the pen--except with Nicky. "

"Nicky is in the-- He's not ill?"

"Well, he's a bit sick. He was a bit seasick to start with, and whenwe gave him the collar--well, he doesn't like his room. "

"But his letters--" Marie Louise pleaded, her fears racing ahead ofher questions. 

"I was always a hand at forgery, but I thought best to turn it to theaid of me country. I'm proud if you liked me work. The last ones werenot up to the mark. _I_ was hurried, and Nicky was ugly. He refused toanswer any more questions. I had to do it all on me own. Ahfterwards Ifound I had made a few mistakes. "

When Marie Louise realized that this man had been calmly taking theletters addressed to Nicky and answering them in his feigned script toelicit further information from Sir Joseph and enmesh him further, shedropped her hands at her sides, feeling not only convicted of crime, but of imbecility as well. 

Sir Joseph and Lady Webling spread their hands and drew up theirshoulders in surrender and gave up hope of bluff. 

Verrinder wanted to be merciful and avoid any more climaxes. 

"You see it's all up, Sir Joseph, don't you?" he said. 

Sir Joseph drew himself again as high as he could, though the burdenof his flesh kept pulling him down. He did not answer. 

"Come now, Sir Joseph, be a sport. "

"The Englishman's releechion, " sneered Sir Joseph, "to be ein_Sportmann_. "

"Oh, I know you can't understand it, " said Verrinder. "It seems to beuntranslatable into German--just as we can't seem to understand_Germanity_ except that it is the antonym of _humanity_. You fellowshave no boyhood literature, I am told, no Henty or Hughes or Scott tofill you with ideas of fair play. You have no games to teach you. Onereally can't blame you for being such rotters, any more than one canblame a Kaffir for not understanding cricket. 

"But sport aside, use your intelligence, old man. _I_'ve laid my cardson the table--enough of them, at least. We've trumped every trick, andwe've all the trumps outstanding. You have a few high cards up yoursleeve. Why not toss them on the table and throw yourselves on themercy of his Majesty?"

The presence of Marie Louise drove the old couple to a last battle forher faith. Lady Webling stormed, "All what you accuse us is lies, lies!"

Verrinder grew stern:

"Lies, you say? We have you, and your daughter--also Nicky. Wehave--well, I'll not annoy you with their names. Over in the Statesthey have a lot more of you fellows. 

"You and Sir Joseph have lived in this country for years and years. You have grown fat--I mean to say rich--upon our bounty. We have lovedand trusted you. His Majesty has given you both marks of his mostgracious favor. "

"We paid well for that, " sneered Lady Webling. 

"Yes, I fancy you did--but with English pounds and pence that yougained with the help of British wits and British freedom. You havecontributed to charities, yes, and handsomely, too, but not entirelywithout the sweet usages of advertisement. You have not hidden thatpart of your bookkeeping from the public. 

"But the rest of your books--you don't show those. We know a ghastlylot about them, and it is not pretty, my dear lady. I had hoped youwould not force us to publish those transactions. You have plotted thedestruction of the British Empire; you have conspired to destroy shipsin dock and at sea; you have sent God knows how many lads to theirdeath--and women and children, too. You have helped to blow upmunitions-plants, and on your white heads is the blood of many andmany a poor wretch torn to pieces at his lathe. You have made widowsof women and orphans of children who never heard of you, nor you ofthem. Nor have you cared--or dared--to inquire. 

"Sir Joseph has been perfecting a great scheme to buy up whatmunitions-plants he could in this country in order to commit sabotageand slow up the production of the ammunition our troops are cryingfor. He has plotted with others to send defective shells that will ripup the guns they do not fit, and powders that will explode too soon ornot at all. God! to think that the lives of our brave men and the lifeof our Empire should be threatened by such people as you!

"And in the American field Sir Joseph has connived with a syndicate topurchase factories, to stop production at the source, since yourU-boats and your red-handed diplomatic spies cannot stop it otherwise. Your agents have corrupted a few of the Yankees, and killed others, and would have killed more if the name of your people had not becomesuch a horror even in that land where millions of Germans live thatevery proffer is suspect. 

"You see, we know you, Lady Webling and Sir Joseph. We have watchedyou all the while from the very first, and we know that you are notinnocent even of complicity in the supreme infamy of luring the_Lusitania_ to her death. "

He was quivering with the rush of his emotions over the broken dam ofhabitual reticence. 

Lady Webling and Sir Joseph had quivered, too, less under the impactof his denunciation than in the confusion of their own exposure tothemselves and to Marie Louise. 

They had watched her eyes as she heard Mr. Verrinder's philippic. Theyhad seen her pass from incredulity to belief. They had seen her glanceat them and glance away in fear of them. 

This broke them utterly, for she was utterly dear to them. She wasdearer than their own flesh and blood. She had replaced their dead. She had been born to them without pain, without infancy, born fullgrown in the prime of youth and beauty. They had watched her love growto a passion, and their own had grown with it. 

What would she do now? She was the judge they feared above England. They awaited her sentence. 

Her eyes wandered to them and searched them through. At first, underthe spell of Verrinder's denunciation, she saw them as two bloatedfiends, their hands dripping blood, their lips framed to lies, theirbrains to cunning and that synonym for Germanism, _ruthlessness_--theword the Germans chose, as their Kaiser chose Huns for an ideal. 

But she looked again. She saw the pleading in their eyes. Their veryuncomeliness besought her mercy. After all, she had seen none of thethings Verrinder described. The only real things to her, the onlythings she knew of her own knowledge, were the goodnesses of thesetwo. They were her parents. And now for the first time they neededher. The mortgage their generosity had imposed on her had fallen due. 

How could she at the first unsupported obloquy of a stranger turnagainst them? Her first loyalty was due to them, and no other loyaltywas under test. Something swept her to her feet. She ran to them and, as far as she could, gathered them into her arms. They wept like twochildren whom reproaches have hardened into defiance, but whomkindness has melted. 

Verrinder watched the spectacle with some surprise and not altogetherwith scorn. Whatever else Miss Webling was, she was a good sport. Shestuck to her team in defeat. 

He said, not quite harshly, "So, Miss Webling, you cast your lot withthem. "

"I do. "

"Do you believe that what I said was true?"

"No. "

"Really, you should be careful. Those messages you carried incriminateyou. "

"I suppose they do, though I never knew what was in them. No, I'lltake that back. I'm not trying to crawl out of it. "

"Then since you confess so much, I shall have to ask you to come withthem. "

"To the--the Tower of London?"

"The car is ready. "

Marie Louise was stabbed with fright. She seized the doomed twain in afaster embrace. 

"What are you going to do with these poor souls?"

"Their souls my dear Miss Webling, are outside our jurisdiction. "

"With their poor bodies, then?"

"I am not a judge or a jury, Miss Webling. Everything will be donewith propriety. They will not be torpedoed in midocean withoutwarning. They will have the full advantage of the British law to thelast. "

That awful word jarred them all. But Sir Joseph was determined to makea good end. He drew himself up with another effort. 

"Excuse, pleass, Mr. Verrinder--might it be we should take with us afew little things?"

"Of course. "

"Thang gyou. " He bowed and turned to go, taking his wife and MarieLouise by the arm, for mutual support. 

"If you don't mind, I'll come along, " said Mr. Verrinder. 

Sir Joseph nodded. The three went heavily up the grandiose stairway asif a gibbet waited at the top. They went into Sir Joseph's room, whichadjoined that of his wife. Mr. Verrinder paused on the sill somewhatshyly:

"This is a most unpleasant task, but--"

Marie Louise hesitated, smiling gruesomely. 

"My room is across the hall. You can hardly be in both places at once, can you?"

"I fancy I can trust you--especially as the house is surrounded. Ifyou don't mind joining us later. "

Marie Louise went to her room. Her maid was there in a palsy of fear. The servants had not dared apply themselves to the keyholes, but theyknew that the master was visited by the police and that a cordon wasdrawn about the house. 

The ashen girl offered her help to Marie Louise, wondering if shewould compromise herself with the law, but incapable of deserting sogood a mistress even at such a crisis. Marie Louise thanked her andtold her to go to bed, compelled her to leave. Then she set about thedreary task of selecting a few necessaries--a nightgown, an extra daygown, some linen, some silver, and a few brushes. She felt as if shewere laying out her own grave-clothes, and that she would need littleand not need that little long. 

She threw a good-by look, a long, sweeping, caressing glance, abouther castle, and went across the hall, lugging her hand-bag. Before sheentered Sir Joseph's room she knocked. 

It was Mr. Verrinder that answered, "Come in. "

He was seated in a chair, dejected and making himself as inoffensiveas possible. Lady Webling had packed her own bag and was helping thehelpless Sir Joseph find the things he was looking for in vain, thoughthey were right before him. Marie Louise saw evidences that a largerpacking had already been done. Verrinder had surprised them, about toflee. 

Sir Joseph was ready at last. He was closing his bag when he took alast glance, and said:

"My toot'-brush and powder. "

He went to his bathroom cabinet, and there he saw in the littleapothecary-shop a bottle of tablets prescribed for him during hisillness. It was conspicuously labeled "_Poison_. "

He stood staring at the bottle so long in such fascination that LadyWebling came to the door to say:

"Vat is it you could not find now, papa?"

She leaned against the edge of the casement, and he pointed to thebottle. Their eyes met, and in one long look they passed through abrief Gethsemane. No words were exchanged. She nodded. He took thebottle from the shelf stealthily, unscrewed the top, poured out a heapof tablets and gave them to her, then poured another heap into his fatpalm. 

"_Prosit_!" he said, and they flung the venom into their throats. Itwas brackish merely from the coating, but they could not swallow allthe pellets. He filled a glass of water at the faucet and handed it tohis wife. She quaffed enough to get the pellets down her resistingthroat, and handed the glass to him. 

They remained staring at each other, trying to crowd into their eyesan infinity of strange passionate messages, though their features wereall awry with nausea and the premonition of lethal pains. 

Verrinder began to wonder at their delay. He was about to rise. MarieLouise went to the door anxiously. Sir Joseph mumbled:

"Look once, my darlink. I find some bong-bongs. Vould you like, yes?"

With a childish canniness he held the bottle so that she could see theskull and cross-bones and the word beneath. 

Marie Louise, not realizing that they had already set out on theadventure, gave a stifled cry and snatched at the bottle. It fell tothe floor with a crash, and the tablets leaped here and there liketiny white beetles. Some of them ran out into the room and caughtVerrinder's eye. 

Before he could reach the door Sir Joseph had said, triumphantly, toMarie Louise:

"Mamma and I did eat already. Too bad you do not come vit. _Adé, Töchterchen. Lebewohl!_"

He was reaching his awkward arms out to clasp her when Verrinder burstinto the homely scene of their tragedy. He caught up the broken bottleand saw the word "_Poison_. " Beneath were the directions, but no wordof description, no mention of the antidote. 

"What is this stuff?" Verrinder demanded, in a frenzy of dread andwrath and self-reproach. 

"I don't know, " Marie Louise stammered. 

Verrinder repeated his demand of Sir Joseph. 

"_Weiss nit_, " he mumbled, beginning to stagger as the serpent struckits fangs into his vitals. 

Verrinder ran out into the hall and shouted down the stairs:

"Bickford, telephone for a doctor, in God's name--the nearest one. Send out to the nearest chemist and fetch him on the run--with everyantidote he has. Send somebody down to the kitchen for warm water, mustard, coffee. "

There was a panic below, but Marie Louise knew nothing except theswirling tempest of her own horror. Sir Joseph and Lady Webling, blindwith torment, wrung and wrenched with spasms of destruction, gropedfor each other's hands and felt their way through clouds of fire to aresting-place. 

Marie Louise could give them no help, but a little guidance toward thebed. They fell upon it--and after a hideous while they died. 

CHAPTER VI

The physician arrived too late--physicians were hard to get forcivilians. While he was being hunted down and brought in, Verrinderfought an unknown poison with what antidotes he could improvise, andsaw that they merely added annoyance to agony. 

His own failure had been unnerving. He had pursued this eminent couplefor months, trying in vain to confirm suspicion by proof andstrengthen assurance with evidence, and always delaying the blow inthe hope of gathering in still more of Germany's agents. At last hehad thrown the slowly woven net about the Weblings and revealed themto themselves as prisoners of his cunning. Then their souls slippedout through the meshes, leaving their useless empty bodies in hiscare, their bodies and the soul and body of the young woman who wasinvolved in their guilt. 

Verrinder did not relish the story the papers would make of it. So heand the physician devised a statement for the press to the effect thatthe Weblings died of something they had eaten. The stomach of Europewas all deranged, and Sir Joseph had been famous for his dinners;there was a kind of ironic logic in his epitaph. 

Verrinder left the physician to fabricate and promulgate the story andkeep him out of it. Then he addressed himself to the remainingprisoner, Miss Marie Louise Webling. 

He had no desire to display this minnow as his captive after thewhales had got away, but he hoped to find her useful in solving someof the questions the Weblings had left unanswered when they boltedinto eternity. Besides, he had no intention of letting Marie Louiseescape to warn the other conspirators and to continue her nefariousactivities. 

His first difficulty was not one of frightening Miss Webling intosubmission, but of soothing her into coherence. She had loved the oldcouple with a filial passion, and the sight of their last throes haddriven her into a frenzy of grief. She needed the doctor's care beforeVerrinder could talk to her at all. The answers he elicited from herhysteria were full of contradiction, of evident ignorance, ofinaccuracy, of folly. But so he had found all human testimony; forthese three things are impossible to mankind: to see the truth, toremember it, and to tell it. 

When first Marie Louise came out of the avalanche of her woes, it wasshe who began the questioning. She went up and down the roomdisheveled, tear-smirched, wringing her hands and beating her breasttill it hurt Verrinder to watch her brutality to that tender flesh. 

"What--what does it mean?" she sobbed. "What have you done to my poorpapa and mamma? Why did you come here?"

"Surely you must know. "

"What do I know? Only that they were good sweet people. "

"Good sweet spies!"

"Spies! Those poor old darlings?"

"Oh, I say--really, now, you surely can't have the face, theinsolence, to--"

"I haven't any insolence. I haven't anything but a broken heart. "

"How many hearts were broken--how many hearts were stopped, do yousuppose, because of your work?"

"My what?"

"I refer to the lives that you destroyed. "

"I--I destroyed lives? Which one of us is going mad?"

"Oh, come, now, you knew what you were doing. You were glad and proudfor every poor fellow you killed. "

"It's you, then, that are mad. " She stared at him in utter fear. Shemade a dash for the door. He prevented her. She fell back and lookedto the window. He took her by the arm and twisted her into a chair. Hehad seen hysteria quelled by severity. He stood over her and spokewith all the sternness of his stern soul. 

"You will gain nothing by trying to make a fool of me. You carriedmessages for those people. The last messages you took you delivered toone of our agents. "

Her soul refused her even self-defense. She could only stammer thefact, hardly believing it as she put it forth:

"I didn't know what was in the letters. I never knew. "

Verrinder was disgusted by such puerile defense:

"What did you think was in them, then?"

"I had no idea. Papa--Sir Joseph didn't take me into his confidence. "

"But you knew that they were secret. "

"He told me that they were--that they were business messages--secretfinancial transactions. "

"Transactions in British lives--oh, they were that! And you knew it. "

"I did not know it! I did not know it! I did not know it!"

She realized too late that the strength of the retort suffered by itsrepetition. It became nonsense on the third iterance. She grew afraideven to defend herself. 

Seeing how frightened she was at bay, Mr. Verrinder forebore to driveher to distraction. 

"Very well, you did not know what the messages contained. But why didyou consent to such sneaking methods? Why did you let them use you forsuch evident deceit?"

"I was glad to be of use to them. They had been so good to me for solong. I was used to doing as I was told. I suppose it was gratitude. "

It was then that Mr. Verrinder delivered himself of his bitter opinionof gratitude, which has usually been so well spoken of and so rarelyberated for excess. 

"Gratitude is one of the evils of the world. I fancy that few otheremotions have done more harm. In moderation it has its uses, but inexcess it becomes vicious. It is a form of voluntary servitude; itabsolutely destroys all respect for public law; it is the foundationof tyrannies; it is the secret of political corruption; it is thething that holds dynasties together, family despotism; it issoul-mortgage, bribery. It is a monster of what the Americans callgraft. It is chloroform to the conscience, to patriotism, to everysense of public duty. 'Scratch my back, and I am your slave'--that'sgratitude. "

Mr. Verrinder rarely spoke at such length or with such apothegm. 

Marie Louise was a little more dazed than ever to hear gratitudedenounced. She was losing all her bearings. Next he demanded:

"But admitting that you were duped by your gratitude, how did ithappen that your curiosity never led you to inquire into the nature ofthose messages?"

"I respected Sir Joseph beyond all people. I supposed that what he didwas right. I never knew it not to be. And then--well, if, I did wondera little once in a while, I thought I'd better mind my own business. "

Verrinder had his opinion of this, too. "Minding your own business!That's another of those poisonous virtues. Minding your own businessleads to pacifism, malevolent neutrality, selfishness of every sort. It's death to charity and public spirit. Suppose the Good Samaritanhad minded his own business! But-- Well, this is getting us noforwarder with you. You carried those messages, and never felt even awoman's curiosity about them! You met Nicky Easton often, and nevernoted his German accent, never suspected that he was not theEnglishman he pretended to be. Is that true?"

He saw by the wild look in her eyes and their escape from his own thathe had scored a hit. He did not insist upon her acknowledging it. 

"And your only motive was gratitude?"

"Yes, sir. "

"You never asked any pay for it?"

"No, sir. "

"You never received anything for it?"

"No, sir. "

"We find the record of a transfer to you of securities for some twentythousand pounds. Why was that given you?"

"It--it was just out of generosity. Sir Joseph said he was afraid Imight be--that his will might be broken, and--"

"Ah! you discussed his will with him, then?"

She was horrified at his implication. She cried, "Oh, I begged him notto, but he insisted. "

"He said there were other heirs and they might contest his will. Didhe mention the heirs?"

"No, sir. I don't think so. I don't remember that he did. "

"He did not by any chance refer to the other grandparents of the twochildren? Mr. And Mrs. Oakby, the father and mother of the father ofVictor and Bettina?"

"He didn't refer to them, I'm sure. Yes, I am quite sure. "

"Did he say that his money would be left in trust for his grandchildren?"

"No. "

"And he gave you twenty thousand pounds just out of generosity?"

"Yes. Yes, Mr. Verrinder. "

"It was a fairish amount of money for messenger fees, wasn't it? Andit came to you while you were carrying those letters to Nicky?"

"No! Sir Joseph had been ill. He had had a stroke of paralysis. "

"And you were afraid he might have another?"

"No!"

"You were not afraid of that?"

"Yes, of course I was, but-- What are you trying to make me say--thatI went to him and demanded the money?"

"That idea occurs to you, does it?"

She writhed with disgust at the suggestion. Yet it had a clammyplausibility. Mr. Verrinder went on:

"These messages, you say, concerned a financial transaction?"

"So papa told me. "

"And you believed him?"

"Naturally. "

"You never doubted him?"

All the tortures of doubt that had assailed her recurred to her nowand paralyzed her power to utter the ringing denial that was needed. He went on:

"Didn't it strike you as odd that Sir Joseph should be willing to payyou twenty thousand pounds just to carry messages concerning somemythical business?"

She did not answer. She was afraid to commit herself to anything. Every answer was a trap. Verrinder went on: "Twenty thousand pounds isa ten-per-centum commission on two hundred thousand pounds. That wasrather a largish transaction to be carried on through secret letters, eh? Nicky Easton was not a millionaire, was he? Now I ask you, shouldyou think of him as a Rothschild? Or was he, do you think, acting asagent for some one else, perhaps, and if so, for whom?"

She answered none of these. They were based on the assumption that shehad put forward herself. She could find nothing to excuse her. Verrinder was simply playing tag with her. As soon as he touched herhe ran away and came at her from another direction. 

"Of course, we know that you were only the adopted daughter of SirJoseph. But where did you first meet him?"

"In Berlin. "

The sound of that word startled her. That German name stood for allthe evils of the time. It was the inaccessible throne of hell. 

Verrinder was startled by it, too. 

"In Berlin!" he exclaimed, and nodded his head. "Now we are gettingsomewhere. Would you mind telling me the circumstances?"

She blushed a furious scarlet. 

"I--I'd rather not. "

"I must insist. "

"Please send me to the Tower and have me imprisoned for life. I'drather be there than here. Or better yet--have me shot. It would makeme happier than anything you could do. "

"I'm afraid that your happiness is not the main object of the moment. Will you be so good as to tell me how you met Sir Joseph in--inBerlin. "

Marie Louise drew a deep breath. The past that she had tried tosmother under a new life must be confessed at such a time of alltimes!

"Well, you know that Sir Joseph had a daughter; the two childrenup-stairs are hers, and--and what's to become of them, in Heaven'sname?"

"One problem at a time, if you don't mind. Sir Joseph had a daughter. That would be Mrs. Oakby. "

"Yes. Her husband died before her second baby was born, and she diedsoon after. And Sir Joseph and Lady Webling mourned for her bitterly, and--well, a year or so later they were traveling on the Continent--inGermany, they were, and one night they went to the Winter Garten inBerlin--the big music-hall, you know. Well, they were sitting farback, and an American team of musicians came on--the Musical Mokes, wewere called. "

"We?"

She bent her head in shame. "I was one of them. I played a xylophoneand a saxophone and an accordion--all sorts of things. Well, LadyWebling gave a little gasp when she saw me, and she looked at SirJoseph--so she told me afterward--and then they got up and stole 'wayup front just as I left the stage--to make a quick change, you know. Icame back--in tights, playing a big trombone, prancing round andmaking an awful noise. Lady Webling gave a little scream; nobody heardher because I made a loud blat on the trombone in the ear of theblack-face clown, and he gave a shriek and did a funny fall, and--"

"But, pardon me--why did Lady Webling scream?"

"Because I looked like her dead daughter. It was so horrible to seeher child come out of the grave in--in tights, blatting a trombone ata clown in that big variety theater. "

"I can quite understand. And then--"

"Well, Sir Joseph came round to the stage door and sent in his card. The man who brought it grinned and told everybody an old man wassmitten on me; and Ben, the black-face man, said, 'I'll break hisface, ' but I said I wouldn't see him. 

"Well, when I was dressed and leaving the theater with the black-faceman, you know, Sir Joseph was outside. He stopped me and said: 'Mychild! My child!' and the tears ran down his face. I stopped, ofcourse, and said, 'What's the matter now?' And he said, 'Would youcome with me?' and I said, 'Not in a thousand years, old CreepoChristmas!' And he said: 'My poor wife is in the carriage at the curb. She wants to speak to you. ' And then of course I had to go, and shereached out and dragged me in and wept all over me. I thought theywere both crazy, but finally they explained, and they asked me to goto their hotel with them. So I told Ben to be on his way, and I went. 

"Well, they asked me a lot of questions, and I told them a little--noteverything, but enough, Heaven knows. And they begged me to be theirdaughter. I thought it would be pretty stupid, but they said theycouldn't stand the thought of their child's image going about as Iwas, and I wasn't so stuck on the job myself--odd, how the oldlanguage comes back, isn't it? I haven't heard any of it for so longI'd almost forgotten it. " She passed her handkerchief across her lipsas if to rub away a bad taste. It left the taste of tears. She sighed:"Well, they adopted me, and I learned to love them. And--and that'sall. "

"And you learned to love their native country, too, I fancy. "

"At first I did like Germany pretty well. They were crazy about us inBerlin. I got my first big money and notices and attention there. Youcan imagine it went to my head. But then I came to England and triedto be as English as I could, so as not to be conspicuous. I neverwanted to be conspicuous off the stage--or on it, for that matter. Ieven took lessons from the man who had the sign up, you remember, 'Americans taught to speak English!' I always had a gift for foreignlanguages, and I got to thinking in English, too. "

"One moment, please. Did you say 'Americans taught?' Americans?"

"Yes. "

"You're not American?"

"Why, of course!"

"Damned stupid of me!"

Verrinder frowned. This complicated matters. He had cornered her, onlyto have her abscond into neutral territory. He had known that MarieLouise was an adopted child, but had not suspected her Americanism. This required a bit of thinking. While he studied it in the back roomof his brain his forehead self was saying:

"So Sir Joseph befriended you, and that was what won your amazing, unquestioning gratitude?"

"That and a thousand thousand little kindnesses. I loved them likemother and father. "

"But your own--er--mother and father--you must have had parents ofyour own--what was their nationality?"

"Oh, they were, as we say, 'Americans from 'way back. ' But my fatherleft my mother soon after I was born. We weren't much good, I guess. It was when I was a baby. He was very restless, they say. I suppose Igot my runaway nature from him. But I've outgrown that. Anyway, heleft my mother with three children. My little brother died. My motherwas a seamstress in a little town out West--an awful hole it was. Iwas a tiny little girl when they took me to my mother's funeral. Iremember that, but I can't remember her. That was my first death. Andnow this! I've lost a mother and father twice. That hasn't happened tomany people. So you must forgive me for being so crazy. So many of myloved are dead. It's frightful. We lose so many as we grow up. Life islike walking through a graveyard, with the sextons always busy openingnew places. There was so much crying and loneliness before, and nowthis war goes on and on--as if we needed a war!"

"God knows, we don't. "

Marie Louise went to the window and raised the curtain. A haggard graylight had been piping the edges of the shade. Now the full casementlet in a flood of warm morning radiance. 

The dull street was alive again. Sparrows were hopping. Wagons were onthe move. Small and early tradesfolk were about their business. Servants were opening houses as shops were being opened in town. 

The big wheel had rolled London round into the eternal day. Doors andwindows were being flung ajar. Newspapers and milk were taken in, ashes put out, cats and dogs released, front stoops washed, walksswept, gardens watered. Brooms were pendulating. In the masters' roomsit was still night and slumber-time, but humble people were alert. 

The morning after a death is a fearful thing. Those papers on thesteps across the way were doubtless loaded with more tragedies fromthe front, and among the cruel facts was the lie that concealed thetruth about the Weblings, who were to read no more morning papers, eatno more breakfasts, set out on no more journeys. 

Grief came to Marie Louise now with a less brackish taste. Her sorrowhad the pity of the sunlight on it. She wept not now for the terrorand hatefulness of the Weblings' fate, but for the beautiful thingsthat would bless them no more, for the roses that would glow unseen, the flowers that would climb old walls and lean out unheeded, askingto be admired and proffering fragrance in payment of praise. TheWeblings were henceforth immune to the pleasant rumble of wagons instreets, to the cheery good mornings of passers-by, the savor ofcoffee in the air, the luscious colors of fruits piled upon silverdishes. 

Then she heard a scamper of bare feet, the squeals of mischief-makingchildren escaping from a pursuing nurse. 

It had been a favorite pastime of Victor and Bettina to break in uponMarie Louise of mornings when she forgot to lock her door. They lovedto steal in barefoot and pounce on her with yelps of savage delightand massacre her, pull her hair and dance upon her bed and on her asshe pleaded for mercy. 

She heard them coming now, and she could not reach the door before itopened and disclosed the grinning, tousle-curled cherubs in theirsleeping-suits. 

They darted in, only to fall back in amazement. Marie Louise was notin bed. The bed had not been slept in. Marie Louise was all dressed, and she had been crying. And in a chair sat a strange, formidable oldgentleman who looked tired and forlorn. 

"Auntie!" they gasped. 

She dropped to her knees, and they ran to her for refuge from thestrange man. 

She hugged them so hard that they cried, "Don't!"

Without in the least understanding what it was all about, they heardher saying to the man:

"And now what's to become of these poor lambs?"

The old stranger passed a slow gray hand across his dismal face andpondered. 

The children pointed, then remembered that it is impolite to point, and drew back their little index hands and whispered:

"Auntie, what you up so early for?" and, "Who is that?"

And she whispered, "S-h-h!"

Being denied the answer to this charade, they took up a new interest. 

"I wonder is grandpapa up, too, and all dressed, " said Victor. 

"And maybe grandmamma, " Bettina shrilled. 

"I'll beat you to their room, " said Victor. 

Marie Louise seized them by their hinder garments as they fled. 

"You must not bother them. "

"Why not?" said Victor. 

"Will so!" said Bettina, pawing to be free. 

Marie Louise implored: "Please, please! They've gone. "

"Where?"

She cast her eyes up at that terrible query, and answered it vaguely. 

"Away. "

"They might have told a fellow good-by, " Victor brooded. 

"They--they forgot, perhaps. "

"I don't think that was very nice of them, " Bettina pouted. 

Victor was more cheerful. "Perhaps they did; perhaps they kissed uswhile we was asleep--_were_ asleep. "

Bettina accepted with delight. 

"Seems to me I 'member somebody kissin' me. Yes, I 'member now. "

Victor was skeptical. "Maybe you only had a dream about it. "

"What else is there?" said Mr. Verrinder, rising and patting Victor onthe shoulder. "You'd better run along to your tubs now. "

They recognized the authority in his voice and obeyed. 

The children took their beauty with them, but left their destiny to bearranged by higher powers, the gods of Eld. 

"What is to become of them, " Louise groaned again, "when I go toprison?"

Verrinder was calm. "Sir Joseph's will doubtless left the bulk of hisfortune to them. That will provide for their finances. And they havetwo grandparents left. The Oakbys will surely be glad to take thechildren in, especially as they will come with such fortunes. "

"You mean that I am to have no more to do with them?"

"I think it would be best to remove them to a more strictly Englishinfluence. "

This hurt her horribly. She grew impatient for the finishing blow. 

"And now that they are disposed of, have you decided what's to becomeof me?"

"It is not for me to decide. By the by, have you any one to representyou or intercede for you here, or act as your counsel in England?"

She shook her head. "A good many people have been very nice to me, ofcourse. I've noticed, though, that even they grew cold and distant oflate. I'd rather die than ask any of them. "

"But have you no relatives living--no one of importance in the Stateswho could vouch for you?"

She shook her head with a doleful humility. 

"None of our family were ever important that I ever heard of, thoughof course one never knows what relatives are lurking about. Mine willnever claim me; that's certain. I did have a sister--poor thing!--ifshe's alive. We didn't get along very well. I was too wild andrestless as a girl. She was very good, hard-working, simple, homely assin--or homely as virtue. I was all for adventure. I've had my fill ofit. But once you begin it, you can't stop when you've had enough. Ifshe's not dead, she's probably married and living under anothername--Heaven knows what name or where. But I could find her, perhaps. I'd love to go to her. She was a very good girl. She's probablymarried a good man and has brought up her children piously, and nevermentioned me. I'd only bring disgrace on her. She'd disown me if Icame home with this cloud of scandal about me. "

"No one shall know of this scandal unless you tell. "

She laughed harshly, with a patronizing superiority. 

"Really, Mr. Verrinder, did you ever know a secret to be kept?"

"This one will be. "

She laughed again at him, then at herself. 

He rose wearily. "I think I shall have to be getting along. I haven'thad a bath or a shave to-day. I shall ask you to keep to your room anddeny yourself to all visitors. I won't ask you to promise not toescape. If the guard around the house is not capable of detaining you, you're welcome to your freedom, though I warn you that England is ashard to get out of as to get into nowadays. Whatever you do, for yourown sake, at least, keep this whole matter secret and stick to thestory we agreed on. Good morning!"

He bowed himself out. No rattling of chains marked his closing of thedoor, but if he had been a turnkey in Newgate he could not have leftMarie Louise feeling more a prisoner. Her room was her body's jail, but her soul was in a dungeon, too. 

As Verrinder went down the hall he scattered a covey of whisperingservants. 

The nurse who had waited to seize the children when they came forthhad left them to dress themselves while she hastened to publish in theservants' dining-room the appalling fact that she had caught sight ofa man in Miss Marie Louise's room. The other servants had many othereven more astounding things to tell--to wit: that after mysteriousexcitements about the house, with strange men going and coming, andthe kitchen torn to pieces for mustard and warm milk and warm waterand strong coffee, and other things, Sir Joseph and Lady Webling wereno more, and the whole household staff was out of a job. Strangepolice-like persons were in the house, going through all the papers inSir Joseph's room. The servants could hardly wait to get out with thegossip. 

And Mr. Verrinder had said that this secret would be kept!

CHAPTER VII

Somewhere along about this time, though there is no record of theexact date--and it was in a shabby home in a humble town where datesmade little difference--a homely woman sniffed. 

Her name was Mrs. Nuddle. 

What Mrs. Nuddle was sniffing at was a page of fashion cartoons, curious human hieroglyphs that women can read and run to buy. Highly improbable garments were sketched on utterly impossiblefigures--female eels who could crawl through their own garters, eelsof strange mottlings, with heads like cranberries, feet like thorns, and no spines at all. 

Mrs. Nuddle was as opposite in every way as could be. She could nothave crawled through her own washtub if she had knocked the bottom outof it. She was a caricature made by nature and long, hard work, andshe laughed at the caricatures devised by art in a hurry. 

She was about to cast the paper aside as a final rebuke when shecaught sight of portraits of real people of fashion. They did not looknearly so fashionable as the cartoons, but they were at leastpossible. Some of them were said to be prominent in charity; most ofthem were prominent out of their corsages. 

Now Mrs. Nuddle sniffed at character, not at caricature. Leaningagainst her washtub and wringer, both as graceful as their engineer, she indulged herself in the pitiful but unfailing solace of the poorand the ugly, which is to attribute to the rich dishonesty and to thebeautiful wickedness. 

The surf Mrs. Nuddle had raised in the little private sea of her tubhad died down, and a froth of soap dried on the rawhide of her bigforearms as her heifer eyes roamed the newspaper-gallery of portraits. One sudsy hand supported and suppressed her smile of ridicule. Thesewomen, belles and swells, were all as glossy as if they had beenironed. 

Mrs. Nuddle sneered: "If the hussies would do an honest day's work itwould be better for their figgers. " She was mercifully oblivious ofthe fact that her tub-calisthenics had made her no more exquisite thana cow in a kimono. 

Mrs. Nuddle scorned the lily-fingered tulip-fleshed beauties. Theirsentimental alarms had nothing in common with her problem, which wasthe riddle of a husband who was faithful only to the bottle, who wasindifferent to the children he got so easily, and was poetical only inthat he never worked save when the mood was on him. 

Again Mrs. Nuddle made to cast aside the paper that had come into herhome wrapped round a bundle of laundry. But now she was startled, andshe would have startled anybody who might have been watching her, forshe stared hard at a photographed beauty and gasped:

"Sister!"

She in her disordered garb, unkempt, uncorseted, and uncommonlycommon, greeted with the word "Sister!" the photograph of a veryyoung, very beautiful, very gracile creature, in a mannish costumethat emphasized her femininity, in a foreign garden, in a braw hatwith curls cascading from under it, with a throat lilying out of aflaring collar, with hands pocketed in a smart jacket, and below thata pair of most fashionable legs in riding-breeches and puttees! Shecarried not a parasol nor a riding-crop, but a great reaping-hookswung across her shoulder, and she smiled as impudently, asimmortally, as if she were Youth and had slain old Time and carriedoff his scythe. 

The picture did not reply to Mrs. Nuddle's cry, but Mrs. Nuddle'seldest daughter, a precocious little adventuress of eleven or so, whowas generally called "Sister, " turned from the young brother whosesmutty face she was just smacking and snapped:

"Aw, whatcha want?"

Little Sister supposed that her irritating mother was going to tellher to stop doing something, or to start doing something--either ofwhich behests she always hated and only obeyed because her mother wasbigger than she was. She turned and saw her mother swaying andclutching at the air. Sister had a gorgeous hope that mother wouldfall into the tub and be interesting for once. But mother was a borndisappointer. She shook off the promising swoon, righted herself, andbegan fiercely to scan the paper to find out whose name the picturebore. The caption was torn off. 

Being absolutely sure who it was, she wanted to find out who it reallywas. 

In her frantic curiosity she remembered that her husband had strippedoff a corner of the paper, dipped it in the stove, lighted his pipewith it, thrown it flaming on the floor, spat it out with practisedaccuracy, and trodden it as he went away. Mrs. Nuddle ran to pick itup. 

On the charred remnant she read:

 The Beautiful Miss. .. . One of London's reigning beaut. .. . Daughter of Sir Joseph W. .. . Doing farm work on the estate in. .. . 

Mrs. Nuddle sniffed no more. She flopped to a backless chair andsquatted in a curious burlesque of Rodin's statue of "The Thinker. "One heavy hand pinched her dewlap. Her hair was damp with steam andraining about her face. Her old waist was half buttoned, and no onewould have regretted if it had been all buttoned. She was as plebeianas an ash-can and as full of old embers. 

She was still immobilized when her husband came in. Now he gasped. Hiswife was loafing! sitting down! in the middle of the day! Thinking wasloafing with her. He was supposed to do the family thinking. It wasdoubly necessary that she should work now, because he was on a strike. He had been to a meeting of other thinkers--ground and lofty thinkerswho believed that they had discovered the true evil of the world andits remedy. 

The evil was the possession of money by those who had accumulated it. The remedy was to take it away from them. Then the poor would be rich, which was right, and the rich would be poor, which was righter still. 

It was well known that the only way to end the bad habit of work wasto quit working. And the way to insure universal prosperity was toburn down the factories and warehouses, destroy all machinery andbeggar the beasts who invented, invested, built, and hired and triedto get rich by getting riches. 

This program would take some little time to perfect, and meanwhileJake was willing that his wife should work. Indeed, a sharp fearalmost unmanned him--what if she should fall sick and have to loaf inthe horsepital? What if she should die? O Gord! Her little childrenwould be left motherless--and fatherless, for he would, of course, betoo busy saving the world to save his children. He would lose, too, the prestige enjoyed only by those who have their money in theirwife's name. So he spoke to her with more than his wonted gentleness:

"Whatta hellsa matter wit choo?"

She felt the unusual concern in his voice, and smiled at him as bestshe could:

"I got a kind of a jolt. I seen this here pitcher, and I thought for aminute it was my sister. "

"Your sister? How'd she get her pitcher in the paper? Who did sheshoot?"

He snatched the sheet from her and saw the young woman in theyoung-manly garb. 

Jake gloated over the picture: "Some looker! What is she, a queen inburlecue?"

Mrs. Nuddle held out the burned sliver of paper. 

He roared. "London's ranging beaut? And you're what thinks she's yoursister! The one that ran away? Was she a beaut like this?"

Mrs. Nuddle nodded. He whistled and said, with great tact:

"Cheese! but I have the rotten luck! Why didn't I see her first?Whyn't you tell me more about her? You never talk about her none. Whynot?" No answer. "All I know is she went wrong and flew the coop. "

Mrs. Nuddle flared at this. "Who said she went wrong?"

"You did!" Jake retorted with vigor. "Usedn't you to keep me awakepraying for her--hollerin' at God to forgive her? Didn't you, or didyou?" No answer. "And you think this is her!" The ridiculousness ofthe fantasy smote him. "Say, you must 'a' went plumb nutty! Bendin'over that tub must 'a' gave you a rush of brains to the head. "

He laughed uproariously till she wanted to kill him. She tried to takeback what she had said:

"Don't you set there tellin' me I ever told you nothin' mean about mypore little sister. She was as good a girl as ever lived, Mamisewas. "

"You're changin' your tune now, ain'tcha? Because you think she lookslike a grand dam in pants! And where dya get that Mamise stuff? Whatwas her honestogawd name? Maryer? You're tryin' to swell her up alittle, huh?"

"No, I ain't. She was named Marie Louise after her gran'-maw, on'yas a baby she couldn't say it right. She said 'Mamise. ' That's whatshe called her poor little self--Mamise. Seems like I can see hernow, settin' on the floor like Sister. And where is she now? OGawd! whatever become of her, runnin' off thataway--a littlesixteen-year-ol' chile, runnin' off with a cheap thattical troupe, because her aunt smacked her. 

"She never had no maw and no bringin' up, and she was so pirty. Shehad all the beauty of the fambly, folks all said. "

"And that ain't no lie, " said Jake, with characteristic gallantry. "There's nothin' but monopoly everywheres in the world. She got allthe looks and I got you. I wonder who got her!"

Jake sighed as he studied the paper, ransacked it noisily for anarticle about her, but, finding none, looked at the date and growled:

"Aw, this paper's nearly a year old--May, 1916, it says. "

This quelled his curiosity a little, and he turned to his dinner, flinging it into his jaws like a stoker. His wife went slip-sloppingfrom stove to table, ministering to him. 

Jake Nuddle did not look so dangerous as he was. He was like an oldtomato-can that an anarchist has filled with dynamite and providedwith a trigger for the destruction of whosoever disturbs it. Explosives are useful in place. But Jake was of the sort that blow upregardless of the occasion. 

His dynamite was discontent. He hated everybody who was richer orbetter paid, better clothed, better spoken of than he was. Yet he hadnothing in him of that constructive envy which is called emulation andleads to progress, to days of toil, nights of thought. His idea ofequality was not to climb to the peak, but to drag the climbers down. Prating always of the sufferings of the poor, he did nothing to soothethem or remove them. His only contribution to the improvement of wageswas to call a strike and get none at all. His contribution to the waragainst oppressive capital was to denounce all successful men asbrutes and tyrants, lumping the benefactors with the malefactors. 

Men of his type made up the blood-spillers of the French Revolution, and the packs of the earlier Jacquerie, the thugs who burned châteauxand shops, and butchered women as well as men, growling their ominousrefrain:

"Noo sum zum cum eel zaw" ("_Nous sommes hommes comme ils sont_"). 

The Jake Nuddles were hate personified. They formed secret armies ofenemies now inside the nation and threatened her success in the war. The thing that prevented their triumph was that their blunders weregreater than their malice, their folly more certain than theirvillainy. As soon as America entered the lists against Germany, theJake Nuddles would begin doing their stupid best to preventenlistment, to persuade desertion, to stop war-production, to wreckfactories and trains, to ruin sawmills and burn crops. In the name offreedom they would betray its most earnest defenders, compel thebattle-line to face both ways. They were more subtle than the snakyspies of Germany, and more venomous. 

As he wolfed his food now, Jake studied the picture of Marie Louise. The gentlest influence her beauty exerted upon him was a beastlydesire. He praised her grace because it tortured his wife. But evenfiercer than his animal impulse was his rage of hatred at the look ofcleanliness and comeliness, the environment of luxury only emphasizedby her peasant disguise. 

When he had mopped his plate with his bread, he took up the paperagain and glared at it with hostile envy. 

"Dammer and her arristocratic ways! Daughter of a Sir and a Lady, eh?Just wait till we get through with them Sirs and Ladies. We'll mow 'emdown. You'll see. Robbin' us poor toilers that does all the work!We'll put an end to their peerages and their deer-parks. What Germanyleaves of these birds we'll finish up. And then we'll take this rottenUnited States, the rottenest tyranny of all. Gawdammit! You justwait!"

His wife just waited till he had smashed the picture in the face, knocked the pretty lady's portrait to the floor and walked on it as hestrode out to his revolution. Incidentally he trod on little Sister'shand, and she sent up a caterwaul. Her little brother howled in duet. Then father turned on them. 

"Aw, shut up or I'll--"

He did not finish his sentence. He rarely finished anything--excepthis meals. He left his children crying and his wife in a new distress;but then, revolutions cannot pause for women and children. 

When he had gone, and Sister's tears had dried on her smutty face, Mrs. Nuddle picked up the smitten and trampled picture of England'sreigning beauty and thought how lucky Miss W. Was to be in England, blissful on Sir and Lady Somebody-or-other's estate. 

CHAPTER VIII

When Mr. Verrinder left Marie Louise he took from her even the propsof hostility. She had nothing to lean on now, nobody to fight with forlife and reputation. She had only suspense and confusion. Agitatedthoughts followed one another in waves across her soul--grief for herfoster-father and mother, memory of their tendernesses, remorse forseeming to have deserted them in their last hours, remorse for havingbeen the dupe of their schemes, and remorse for that remorse, grief atlosing the lovable, troublesome children, creature distress at givingup the creature comforts of the luxurious home, the revulsion of herunfettered mind and her restless young body at the prospect ofexchanging liberty and occupation for the half-death of an idlecell--a kind of coffin residence--fear of being executed as a spy, andfear of being released to drag herself through life with the ball andchain of guilt forever rolling and clanking at her feet. 

Verrinder's mind was hardly more at rest when he left her and walkedto his rooms. He carried the regret of a protector of England who hadbungled his task and let the wards of his suspicion break loose. Thefault was not his, but he would never escape the reproach. He had notaste for taking revenge on the young woman. It would not salve hispride to visit on her pretty head the thwarted punishments due SirJoseph and his consort in guilt. Besides, in spite of his cynicism, hehad been touched by Marie Louise's sincerities. She proved them by thevery contradictions of her testimony, with its history of keenintelligence alternating with curious blindness. He knew how peopleget themselves all tangled up in conflicting duties, how they letevils slide along, putting off till to-morrow the severing of thecords and the stepping forth with freedom from obligation. He knewthat the very best people, being those who are most sensitive togratitude and to other people's pains, are incessantly let in forcomplications that never involve selfish or self-righteous persons. 

As an executive of the law, he knew how many laws there are unwrittenand implied that make obedience to the law an experiment incaddishness and ingratitude. There were reasons enough then to believethat Marie Louise had meant no harm and had not understood the evil inwhich she was so useful an accomplice. Even if she were guilty and herbewilderment feigned, her punishment would be untimely at this momentwhen the Americans who abhorred and distrusted Germany had just aboutpersuaded the majority of their countrymen that the world would beintolerable if Germany triumphed, and that the only hope of defeatingher tyranny lay in joining hands with England, France, and Italy. 

The enemies of England would be only too glad to make a martyr out ofMiss Webling if she were disciplined by England. She would beadvertised, as a counterweight to the hideous mistake the Germans madein immortalizing with their bullets the poor little nurse, "_die_Cavell. "

Verrinder was not himself at all till he had bathed, shaved, andclothed his person in clean linen and given his inner man its tea andtoast. Once this restoration was made, his tea deferred helped him tothe conclusion that the one wise thing was to restore Marie Louisequietly to her own country. He went with freshened step and determinedmind to a conference with the eminent men concerned. He made his ownconfession of failure and took more blame than he need have accepted. Then he told his plans for Marie Louise and made the council agreewith him. 

Early in the afternoon he called on Miss Webling and found the house aflurry of undertakers, curious relatives, and thwarted reporters. Therelatives and the reporters he satisfied with a few well-chosen lies. Then he sent his name up to Marie Louise. The butler thrust thecard-tray through the door as if he were tossing a bit of meat to somewild animal. 

"I'll be down, " said Marie Louise, and she primped herself likeanother Mary Queen of Scots receiving a call from the executioner. Shewas calmed by the hope that she would learn her fate, at least, andshe cared little what it was, so long as it was not unknown. 

Verrinder did not delay to spread his cards on the table. 

"Miss Webling, I begin again with a question: If we should offer youfreedom and silence, would you go back to America and tell no one ofwhat has happened here?"

The mere hint was like flinging a door open and letting the sunlightinto a dungeon. The very word "America" was itself a rush of freshair. The long-forgotten love of country came back into her heart on acry of hope. 

"Oh, you don't mean that you might?"

"We might. In fact, we will, if you will promise--"

She could not wait for his formal conclusion. She broke in: "I'llpromise anything--anything! Oh I don't want to be free just for thesake of escaping punishment! No, no. I just want a chance to--toexpiate the evil I have done. I want to do some good to undo all thebad I've brought about. I won't try to shift any blame. I want toconfess. It will take this awful load off my heart to tell people whata wicked fool I've been. "

Verrinder checked her: "But that is just what you must not do. Unlessyou can assure us that you will carry this burden about with you andkeep it secret at no matter what cost, then we shall have to proceedwith the case--legally. We shall have to exhume Sir Joseph and LadyWebling, as it were, and drag the whole thing through the courts. We'dreally rather not, but if you insist--"

"Oh, I'll promise. I'll keep the secret. Let them rest. "

She was driven less by the thought of her own liberty than the terrorof exposing the dead. The mere thought brought back pictures ofhideous days when the grave was not refuge enough from vengeance, whenbodies were dug up, gibbeted, haled by a chain along the unwashedcobblestones, quartered with a sword in the market-place and thenflung back to the dark. 

Verrinder may have feared that Marie Louise yielded under duress, andthat when she was out of reach of the law she would forget, so hesaid

"Would you swear to keep this inviolate?"

"Yes!"

"Have you a Bible?"

She thought there must be one, and she searched for it among thebookshelves. But first she came across one in the German tongue. Itfell open easily, as if it had been a familiar companion of SirJoseph's. She abhorred the sight of the words that youthfulSunday-school lessons had given an unearthly sanctity as sherecognized them twisted into the German paraphrase and printed in thetwisted German type. But she said:

"Will this do?"

Verrinder shook his head. "I don't know that an oath on a German Biblewould really count. It might be considered a mere heap of paper. "

Marie Louise put it aside and brushed its dust off her fingers. Shefound an English Bible after a further search. Its pages had seen thelight but seldom. It slipped from her hand and fell open. She knelt topick it up with a tremor of fear. 

She rose, and before she closed it glanced at the page before her. These words caught her eye:

 For thus saith the Lord God of Israel unto me. Take the winecup of this fury at my hand, and cause all the nations, to whom I send thee, to drink it. And they shall drink, and be moved, and be mad because of the sword that I will send among them. 

She showed them to Verrinder. He nodded solemnly, took the book fromher hand, closed it, and held it before her. She put the slim tips ofher young fingers near the talon of his old thumb and echoed in atimid, silvern voice the broken phrases he spoke in a tone of bronze:

"I solemnly swear--that so long as I live--I will tell no one--what Iknow--of the crimes and death--of Sir Joseph and Lady Webling--unlesscalled upon--in a court of law. This oath is made--with no mentalreservations--and is binding--under all circumstances whatsoever--sohelp me God!"

When she had whispered the last invocation he put the book away andgripped her hand in his. 

"I must remind you that releasing you is highly illegal--and perhapsimmoral. Our action might be overruled and the whole case opened. ButI think you are safe, especially if you get to America--the sooner thebetter. "

"Thank you!" she said. 

He laughed, somewhat pathetically. 

"Good luck!"

He did not tell her that England would still be watching over her, that her name and her history were already cabled to America, thatshe would be shadowed to the steamer, observed aboard the boat, and picked up at the dock by the first of a long series of detectivesconstituting a sort of serial guardian angel. 

BOOK II

IN NEW YORK

[Illustration: "This is the life for me. I've been a heroine and awar-worker about as long as I can. "]

CHAPTER I

Leaving England quickly was not easy in those days. Passenger-steamerswere few, irregular, and secret. The passport regulations wereexceedingly rigorous, and even Mr. Verrinder's influence could notspeed the matter greatly. 

There was the Webling estate to settle up, also. At Verrinder'ssuggestion Marie Louise put her affairs into the hands of counsel, andhe arranged her surrender of all claims on the Webling estate. But heinsisted that she should keep the twenty thousand pounds that had beengiven to her absolutely. He may have been influenced in this by hisinability to see from what other funds he could collect his fee. 

Eventually he placed her aboard a liner, and her bonds in the purser'ssafe; and eventually the liner stole out into the ocean, through sucha gantlet of lurking demons as old superstitions peopled it with. 

She had not told the children good-by, but had delivered them to theOakbys and run away. The Oakbys had received her with a coldness thatstartled her. They used the expression, "Under the circumstances, "with a freezing implication that made her wonder if the secret hadalready trickled through to them. 

On the steamer there was nobody she knew. At the dock no friendsgreeted her. She did not notice that her arrival was noted by acertain Mr. Larrey, who had been detailed to watch her and saw withsome pride how pretty she was. "It'll be a pleasure to keep an eye onher, " he told a luckless colleague who had a long-haired pacifistprofessor allotted to him. But Marie Louise's mystic squire had notcounted on her stopping in New York for only a day and then settingforth on a long, hot, stupid train-ride of two days to the little townof her birth, Wakefield. 

Larrey found it appalling. Marie Louise found it far smaller andshabbier than she had imagined. Yet it had grown some, too, since hertime. 

At least, most of the people she had known had moved away to thecities or the cemeteries, and new people had taken their place. Shehad not known many of the better people. Her mother had been toohumble to sew for them. 

Coming from London and the country life of England, she found the townintolerably ugly. It held no associations for her. She had beenunhappy there, and she said: "Poor me! No wonder I ran away. " Shejustified her earlier self with a kind of mothering sympathy. Shelonged for some one to mother her present self. 

But her sister was not to be found. The old house where they had livedwas replaced by a factory that had made suspenders and now was turningout cartridge-belts. She found no one who knew her sister at all. Shedid not give her own name, for many reasons, and her face was notremembered. A few people recalled the family. The town marshal vaguelyplaced her father as a frequent boarder at the jail. 

One sweet old lady, for whom Marie Louise's mother had done sewing, had a kind of notion that one of the sisters had run away and that theother sister had left town with somebody for somewhere sometime after. But that was all that the cupboard of her recollection disclosed. 

Anatole France has a short story of Pilate in his old age meeting hispredecessor as Proconsul in Jerusalem. During their senile gossip theelder asks if Pilate had known a certain beauty named Mary of Magdala. Pilate shakes his head. The other has heard that she took up with astreet-preacher called Jesus from the town of Nazareth. Pilateponders, shakes his head again, and confesses, "I don't rememberhim. "

It was not strange, then, that Marie Louise's people, who had madealmost no impression on the life of the town, should have lapsed fromits memory. But it was discouraging. Marie Louise felt as much of ananachronism as old Rip Van Winkle, though she looked no more like himthan an exquisite, fashionable young woman could look like agray-bearded sot who has slept in his clothes for twenty years. 

Her private detective, Larrey, homesick for New York, was overjoyedwhen she went back, but she was disconsolate and utterly detached fromlife. The prodigal had come home, but the family had moved away. 

She took a comfortable little nook in an apartment hotel and settleddown to meditate. The shops interested her, and she browsed away amongthem for furniture and clothes and books. 

Marie Louise had not been in her homeless home long when the Presidentvisited Congress and asked it to declare a state of war againstGermany. She was exultant over the great step, but the wilful few whoheld Congress back from answering the summons revealed to her why thenation had been so slow in responding to the crisis. Even now, afterso much insult and outrage, vast numbers of Americans denied thatthere was any cause for war. 

But the patience of the majority had been worn thin. The oppositionwas swept away, and America declared herself in the arena--in spiritat least. Impatient souls who had prophesied how the millions wouldspring to arms overnight wondered at the failure to commit a miracle. The Germans, who had prepared for forty years, laughed at the newenemy and felt guaranteed by five impossibilities: that America shouldraise a real army, or equip it, or know how to train it, or be able toget it past the submarine barrier, or feed the few that might sneakthrough. 

America's vast resources were unready, unwieldy, unknown. The firstembarrassment was the panic of volunteers. 

Marie Louise was only one of the hundred million who sprang madly inall directions and landed nowhere. She wanted to volunteer, too, butfor what? What could she do? Where could she get it to do? In thechaos of her impatience she did nothing. 

Supping alone at the Biltmore one night, she was seen, hailed, andseized by Polly Widdicombe. Marie Louise's detective knew who Pollywas. He groaned to note that she was the first friend his client hadfound. 

Polly, giggling adorably, embraced her and kissed her before everybodyin the big Tudor Room. And Polly's husband greeted her with warmth ofhand and voice. 

Marie Louise almost wept, almost cried aloud with joy. The prodigalwas home, had been welcomed with a kiss. Evidently her secret had notcrossed the ocean. She could take up life again. Some day the pastwould confront and denounce her, perhaps; but for the moment she wasenfranchised anew of human society. 

Polly said that she had read of Sir Joseph's death and his wife's, andwhat a shock it must have been to poor Marie Louise, but how well shebore up under it, and how perfectly darn beautiful she was, and what ashame that it was almost midnight! She and her hub were going toWashington. Everybody was, of course. Why wasn't Marie Louise there?And Polly's husband was to be a major--think of it! He was going to beall dolled up in olive drab and things and-- "Damn the clock, anyway;if we miss that train we can't get on another for days. And what'syour address? Write it on the edge of that bill of fare and tear itoff, and I'll write you the minute I get settled, for you must come tous and nowhere else and-- Good-by, darling child, and-- All right, Tom, I'm coming!"

And she was gone. 

Marie Louise went back to her seclusion much happier and yet muchlonelier. She had found a friend who had not heard of her disgrace. She had lost a friend who still rejoiced to see her. 

But her faithful watchman was completely discouraged. When he turnedin his report he threatened to turn in his resignation unless he wererelieved of the futile task of recording Marie Louise's blameless andeventless life. 

And then the agent's night was turned to day--at least his high noonwas turned to higher. For a few days later Marie Louise was abruptlyaddressed by Nicky Easton. 

She had been working in the big Red Cross shop on Fifth Avenue, rolling bandages and making dressings with a crowd of otherwhite-fingered women. A cable had come that there was a sudden needfor at least ten thousand bandages. These were not yet for Americansoldiers in France, though their turn would come, and their wholesaleneed. But as Marie Louise wrought she could imagine the shatteredflesh, the crying nerves of some poor patriot whose gaping wound thislinen pack would smother. And her own nerves cried out in vicariouscrucifixion. At noon she left the factory for a little air and a biteof lunch. 

Nicky Easton appeared out of her list of the buried. She gasped atsight of him. 

"I thought you were dead. "

He laughed: "If I am it, thees is my _Doppelgänger_. " And he began tohum with a grisly smile Schubert's setting to Heine's poem of the manwho met his own ghost and double, aping his love-sorrow outside thehome of his dead sweetheart:

 "_Der Mond zeigt mir meine eig'ne Gestalt. Du Doppelgänger, du bleicher Geselle! Was äffst du nach mein Liebesleid, Das mich gequält auf dieser Stelle So manche Nacht in alter Zeit. _"

Marie Louise was terrified by the harrowing emotions the song alwaysroused in her, but more by the dreadful sensation of walking thatcrowded Avenue with a man humming German at her side. 

"Hush! Hush, in Heaven's name!" she pleaded. 

He laughed Teutonically, and asked her to lunch with him. 

"I have another engagement, and I am late, " she said. 

"Where are you living?"

She felt inspired to give him a false address. He insisted on walkingwith her to the Waldorf, where she said her engagement was. 

"You don't ask me where I have been?"

"I was just going to. The last I heard you were in the London Tower orsomewhere. However did you get out?"

"The same way like you ditt. I thought you should choin me therein, but you also told all you knew and some more yet, yes?"

She saw then that he had turned state's evidence. Perhaps he hadbetrayed Sir Joseph. Somehow she found it possible to loathe himextra. She lacked the strength to deny his odious insinuation aboutherself. He went on:

"Now I am in America. I could not dare go to Germany now. But here Itry to gain back my place in _Deutschland_. These English think theyuse me for a stool-pitcheon. But they will find out, and when_Deutschland ist über alles--ach, Gott_! You shall help me. We do somework togedder. I come soon by your house. _Auf_--Goot-py. "

He left her at the hotel door and lifted his hat. She went into thelabyrinth and lost herself. When her heart had ceased fluttering andshe grew calm from very fatigue of alarm she resolved to steal out ofNew York. 

She spent an afternoon and an evening of indecision. Night broughtcounsel. Polly Widdicombe had offered her a haven, and in the country. It would be an ideal hiding-place. She set to work at midnight packingher trunk. 

CHAPTER II

Marie Louise tried all the next morning to telephone from New York toWashington, but it seemed that everybody on earth was making the sameeffort. It was a wire Babel. 

Washington was suddenly America in the same way that London had longbeen England; and Paris France. The entire population was apparentlytrying to get into Washington in order to get out again. People wrote, telegraphed, radiographed, telephoned, and traveled thither by allthe rail- and motor-roads. Washington was the narrow neck of thefunnel leading to the war, and the sleepy old home of debate andadministration was suddenly dumfounded to find itself treated to allthe horrors of a boom-town--it was like San Francisco in '49. 

Marie Louise, who had not yet recovered her American dialect, keptpleading with Long Distance:

"Oh, I say, cahn't you put me through to Washington? It's no endimportant, really! Rosslyn, seven three one two. I want to speak toMrs. Widdicombe. I am Miss Webling. Thank you. "

The obliging central asked her telephone number and promised to callher in a moment. Eternity is but a moment--to some centrals. MarieLouise, being finite and ephemeral, never heard from that centralagain. Later she took up the receiver and got another central, who hadnever heard her tale of woe and had to have it all over again. Thiscentral also asked her name and number and promised to report, thenvanished into the interstellar limbo where busy centrals go. 

Again and again Marie Louise waited and called, and told and retoldher prayer till it turned to gibberish and she began to doubt her ownname and to mix the telephone number hopelessly. Then she went intoher hand-bag and pawed about in the little pocket edition of confusiontill she found the note that Polly had sent her at once fromWashington with the address, Grinden Hall, Rosslyn, and the telephonenumber and the message. 

 So glad you're on this side of the water, dear. Do run over and see us. Perfect barn of a house, and lost in the country, but there's always room--especially for you, dear. You'll never get in at a hotel. 

Marie Louise propped this against the telephone and tried again. 

The seventh central dazed her with, "We can take nothing but gov'mentbusiness till two P. M. "

Marie Louise rose in despair, searched in her bag for her watch, gasped, put the watch and the note back in her bag, snapped it, androse to go. 

She decided to send Polly a telegram. She took out the note for theaddress and telephoned a telegram, saying that she would arrive atfive o'clock. The telegraph-operator told her that the company couldnot guarantee delivery, as traffic over the wires was very heavy. Marie Louise sighed and rose, worn out with telephone-fag. 

She told the maid to ask the hall-boy to get her a taxi, and hastilymade ready to leave. Her trunks had gone to the station an hour ago, and they had been checked through from the house. 

Her final pick-up glance about the room did not pick up the note shehad propped on the telephone-table. She left it there and closed thedoor on another chapter of her life. 

She rode to the station, and, after standing in line for a wearywhile, learned that not a seat was to be had in a parlor-car to-day, to-morrow, or any day for two weeks. Berths at night were still moreunobtainable. 

She decided that she might as well go in a day-coach. Scores of peoplehad had the same idea before her. The day-coaches were filled. Shesidled through the crowded aisles and found no seat. She invaded thechair-cars in desperation. 

In one of these she saw a porter bestowing hand-luggage. She appealedto him. "You must have one chair left. "

He was hardly polite in his answer. "No, ma'am, I ain't. I ain't asingle chair. "

"But I've got to sit somewhere, " she said. 

The porter did not comment on such a patent fallacy. He moved back tothe front to repel boarders. Several men stared from the depths oftheir dentist's chairs, but made no proffer of their seats. Theybelieved that woman's newfangled equality included the privilege ofstanding up. 

One man, however, gave a start as of recognition, real or pretended. Marie Louise did not know him, and said so with her eyes. His smile ofrecognition changed to a smile of courtesy. He proffered her his seatwith an old-fashioned gesture. She declined with a shake of the headand a coldly correct smile. 

He insisted academically, as much as to say: "I can see that you are agentlewoman. Please accept me as a gentleman and permit me to do myduty. " There was a brief, silent tug-of-war between his unselfishnessand hers. He won. Before she realized it, she had dropped wearily intohis place. 

"But where will you sit?" she said. 

"Oh, I'll get along. "

He smiled and moved off, lugging his suit-case. He had the air of onewho would get along. He had shown himself masterful in two combats, and compelled her to take the chair he had doubtless engaged withfutile providence days before. 

"Rahthah a decentish chap, with a will of his own, " she thought. 

The train started, left the station twilight, plunged into the tunnelof gloom and made the dip under the Hudson River. People felt theirears buzz and smother. Wise ones swallowed hard. The train came backto the surface and the sunlight, and ran across New Jersey. 

Marie Louise decided to take her luncheon early, to make sure of it. Nearly everybody else had decided to do the same thing. At this timeall the people in America seemed to be thinking _en masse_. When shereached the dining-car every seat was taken and there was a longbread-line in the narrow corridor. 

The wilful man was at the head. He fished for her eye, caught it, andmotioned to her to take his place. She shook her head. But it seemedto do no good to shake heads at him; he came down the corridor andlifted his hat. His voice and words were pleading, but his tone wasimperative. 

"Please take my place. "

She shook her head, but he still held his hand out, pointing. She wasangry at being bossed even for her own benefit. Worse yet, by the timeshe got to the head of the line the second man had moved up to first. He stared at her as if he wondered what she was doing there. She fellback, doubly vexed, but That Man advanced and gave the interloper alook like a policeman's shove. The fellow backed up on the next man'stoes. Then the cavalier smiled Miss Webling to her place and went backto the foot of the class without waiting for her furious thanks. 

She wanted to stamp her foot. She had always hated to be cowed orcompelled to take chairs or money. People who had tried to move hersoul or lend her their experience or their advantages had alwaysaroused resentment. 

Before long she had a seat. The man opposite her was just thumbing hislast morsel of pie. She supposed that when he left That Man would takethe chair and order her luncheon for her. But it was not so to be. Shepassed him still well down the line. He had probably given his placeto other women in succession. She did not like that. It seemed atrifle unfaithful or promiscuous or something. The rescuer owes therescuee a certain fidelity. He did not look at her. He did not claimeven a glance of gratitude. 

It was so American a gallantry that she resented it. If he had seemedto ask for the alms of a smile, she would have insulted him. Yet itwas not altogether satisfactory to be denied the privilege. She fumed. Everything was wrong. She sat in her cuckoo's nest and glared at thereeling landscape. 

Suddenly she began pawing through that private chaos, looking forPolly Widdicombe's letter. She could not find it. She found the checksfor her trunks, a handkerchief, a pair of gloves, and various otherthings, but not the letter. This gave her a new fright. 

She remembered now that she had left it on the telephone-table. Shecould see it plainly as her remembered glance took its last survey ofthe room. The brain has a way of developing occasional photographsvery slowly. Something strikes our eyes, and we do not really see ittill long after. We hear words and say, "How's that?" or, "I beg yourpardon!" and hear them again before they can be repeated. 

This belated feat of memory encouraged Miss Webling to hope that shecould remember a little farther back to the contents of the letter andthe telephone number written there. But her memory would not respond. The effort to cudgel it seemed to confuse it. She kept on forgettingmore and more completely. 

All she could remember was what Polly Widdicombe had said about therebeing no chance to get into a hotel--"an hôtel, " Marie Louise stillthought it. 

It grew more and more evident that the train would be hours late. People began to worry audibly about the hotels that would probablyrefuse them admission. At length they began to stroll toward thedining-car for an early dinner. 

Marie Louise, to make sure of the meal and for lack of otheremployment, went along. There was no queue in the corridor now. Shedid not have to take That Man's place. She found one at a little emptytable. But by and by he appeared, and, though there were other vacantseats, he sat down opposite her. 

She could hardly order the conductor to eject him. In fact, seeingthat she owed him for her seat-- It suddenly smote her that he musthave paid for it. She owed him money! This was unendurable!

He made no attempt to speak to her, but at length she found courage tospeak to him. 

"I beg your pardon--"

He looked up and about for the salt or something to pass, but she wenton:

"May I ask you how much you paid for the seat you gave me?"

He laughed outright at this unexpected demand:

"Why, I don't remember, I'm sure. "

"Oh, but you must, and you must let me repay it. It just occurred tome that I had cheated you out of your chair, and your money, too. "

"That's mighty kind of you, " he said. 

He laughed again, but rather tenderly, and she was grateful to him forhaving the tact not to be flamboyant about it and not insisting onforgetting it. 

"I'll remember just how much it was in a minute, and if you will feeleasier about it, I'll ask you for it. "

"I could hardly rob a perfect stranger, " she began. 

He broke in: "They say nobody is perfect, and I'm not a perfectstranger. I've met you before, Miss Webling. "

"Not rilly! Wherever was it? I'm so stupid not to remember--even yourname. "

He rather liked her for not bluffing it through. He could understandher haziness the better from the fact that when he first saw her inthe chair-car and leaped to his feet it was because he had identifiedher once more with the long-lost, long-sought beauty of years longgone--the girl he had seen in the cheap vaudeville theater. This slipof memory had uncovered another memory. He had corrected thepalimpsest and recalled her as the Miss Webling whom he had met inLondon. She had given him the same start then as now, and, as herecalled it, she had snubbed him rather vigorously. So he had kept hisdistance. But the proffer of the money for the chair-car chair brokethe ice a little. He said at last:

"My name is Ross Davidge. I met you at your father's house inLondon. "

This seemed to agitate her peculiarly. She trembled and gasped:

"You don't mean it. I-- Oh yes, of course I remember--"

"Please don't lie about it, " he pleaded, bluntly, "for of course youdon't. "

She laughed, but very nervously. 

"Well, we did give very large dinners. "

"It was a very large one the night I was there. I was a mile down thestreet from you, and I said nothing immortal. I was only a businessacquaintance of Sir Joseph's, anyway. It was about ships, of course. "

He saw that her mind was far away and under strange excitation. Butshe murmured, distantly:

"Oh, so you are--interested in ships?"

"I make 'em for a living. "

"Rilly! How interesting!"

This constraint was irksome. He ventured:

"How is the old boy? Sir Joseph, I mean. He's well, I hope. "

Her eyes widened. "Didn't you know? Didn't you read in the papers--abouttheir death together?"

"Theirs? His wife and he died together?"

"Yes. "

"In a submarine attack?"

"No, at home. It was in all the papers--about their dying on the samenight, from--from ptomaine poisoning. "

"No!"

He put a vast amount of shock and regret in the mumbled word. Heexplained: "I must have been out in the forest or in the mines at thetime. Forgive me for opening the old wound. How long ago was it? I seeyou're out of mourning. "

"Sir Joseph abominated black; and besides, few people wear mourning inEngland during the war. "

"That's so. Poor old England! You poor Englishwomen--mothers anddaughters! My God! what you've gone through! And such pluck!"

Before he realized what he was doing his hand went across and touchedhers, and he clenched it for just a moment of fierce sympathy. She didnot resent the message. Then he muttered:

"I know what it means. I lost my father and mother--not at once, ofcourse--years apart. But to lose them both in one night!"

She made a sharp attempt at self-control:

"Please! I beg you--please don't speak of it. "

He was so sorry that he said nothing more. Marie Louise was doublyfascinating to him because she was in sorrow and afraid of somethingor somebody. Besides, she was inaccessible, and Ross Davidge alwaysfelt a challenge from the impossible and the inaccessible. 

She called for her check and paid it, and tipped the waiter and rose. She smiled wretchedly at him as he rose with her. She left thedining-car, and he sat down and cursed himself for a brute and ablunderer. 

He kept in the offing, so that if she wanted him she could call him, but he thought it the politer politeness not to italicize hischivalry. He was so distressed that he forgot that she had forgottento pay him for the chair. 

It was good and dark when the train pulled into Washington at last. The dark gave Marie Louise another reason for dismay. The appearanceof a man who had dined at Sir Joseph's, and the necessity for tellinghim the lie about that death, had brought on a crisis of nerves. Shewas afraid of the dark, but more afraid of the man who might askstill more questions. She avoided him purposely when she left thetrain. 

A porter took her hand-baggage and led her to the taxi-stand. PollyWiddicombe's car was not waiting. Marie Louise went to the front ofthe building to see if she might be there. She was appalled at thethought of Polly's not meeting her. She needed her blessed giggle asnever before. 

It was a very majestic station. Marie Louise had heard people say thatit was much too majestic for a railroad station. As if America did notowe more to the iron god of the rails than to any of her otherdeities!

Before her was the Capitol, lighted from below, its dome floatingcloudily above the white parapets as if mystically sustained. Thesuperb beauty of it clutched her throat. She wanted to do somethingfor it and all the holy ideals it symbolized. 

Evidently Polly was not coming. The telegram had probably neverreached her. The porter asked her, "Was you thinkin' of a taxi?" andshe said, "Yes, " only to realize that she had no address to give thedriver. 

BOOK III

IN WASHINGTON

[Illustration: "'It's beautiful overhead if you're going that way, '"Davidge quoted. He set out briskly, but Marie Louise hung back. "Aren'tyou afraid to push on when you can't see where you're going?" shedemanded. ]

CHAPTER I

She went through her hand-bag again, while the porter computed howmany tips he was missing and the cab-starter looked insufferablethings about womankind. 

She asked if any of them knew where Grinden Hall might be, but theyshook their heads. She had a sudden happy idea. She would ask thetelephone Information for the number. She hurried to a booth, followedby the despondent porter. She asked for Information and got her, butthat was all. 

"Please give me the numba of Mrs. Widdicombe's, in Rosslyn. "

A Washington dialect eventually told her that the number was a privatewire and could not be given. 

Marie Louise implored a special dispensation, but it was against therules. 

She asked for the supervisor--who was equally sorry and adamant. MarieLouise left the booth in utter defeat. There was nothing to do but goto a hotel till the morrow. 

She recalled the stories of the hopelessness of getting a room. Yetshe had no choice but to make the try. She had got a seat on the trainwhere there were none. Perhaps she could trust her luck to provide herwith a lodging, too. 

"We'll go back to the taxi-stand, " she told the porter. 

He did not conceal his joy at being rid of her. 

She tried the Shoreham first, and when the taxicab deposited her underthe umbrellas of the big trees and she climbed the homelike steps to alobby with the air of a living-room she felt welcome and secure. Brilliant clusters were drifting to dinner, and the men were morepicturesque than the women, for many of them were in uniform. Officersof the army and navy of the United States and of Great Britain and ofFrance gave the throng the look of a costume-party. 

There was a less interesting crowd at the desk, and now nobody offeredher his place at the head of the line. It would have done no good, forthe room-clerk was shaking his head to all the suppliants. MarieLouise saw women turned away, married couples, men alone. Butnew-comers pressed forward and kept trying to convince the deskmanthat he had rooms somewhere, rooms that he had forgotten, or wassaving for people who would never arrive. 

He stood there shaking his head like a toy in a window. People triedto get past him in all the ways people try to get through life, in theways that Saint Peter must grow very tired of at the gate ofheaven--bluff, whine, bribery, intimidation, flirtation. 

Some demanded their rights with full confidence and would not take nofor answer. Some pleaded with hopelessness in advance; they were usedto rebuffs. They appealed to his pity. Some tried corruption; theywhispered that they would "make it all right, " or they managed a slydisplay of money--one a one-dollar bill with the "1" folded in, another a fifty-dollar bill with the "50" well to the fore. Some grewugly and implied favoritism; they were the born strikers andanarchists. Even though they looked rich, they had that habit offinding oppression and conspiracy everywhere. A few women appealed tohis philanthropy, and a few others tried to play the siren. But hishead oscillated from side to side, and nobody could swing it up anddown. 

Marie Louise watched the procession anxiously. There seemed to be noend to it. The people who had come here first had been turned awayinto outer darkness long ago and had gone to other hotels. The presentwretches were those who had gone to the other hotels first and madethis their second, third, or sixth choice. 

Marie Louise did not go to the desk. She could take a hint at secondhand. She would have been glad of a place to sit down, but all thedivans were filled with gossipers very much at home and somewhatcontemptuous of the vulgar herd trying to break into their select andlong-established circle. She heard a man saying, with amiable anger:"Ah'm mahty sah'y Ah can't put you up at ouah haouse, but we've got'em hangin' on the hat-rack in the hall. You infunnal patriots havesimply ruined this little old taown. "

She heard a pleasant laugh. "Don't worry. I'll get along somehow. "

She glanced aside and saw That Man again. She had forgotten his nameagain; yet she felt curiously less lonely, not nearly so hopeless. Theother man said:

"Say, Davidge, are you daown heah looking for one of these dollah-a-yeahjobs? Can you earn it?"

"I'm not looking for a job. I'm looking for a bed. "

"Not a chance. The government's taken ovah half the hotels foroffice-buildings. "

"I'll go to a Turkish bath, then. "

"Good Lawd! man, I hud a man propose that, and the hotel clerk said hehad telephoned the Tukkish bath, and a man theah said: 'For God's sakedon't send anybody else heah! We've got five hundred cots fullnaow. '"

"There's Baltimore. "

"Baltimer's full up. So's Alexandra. Go on back home and write aletta. "

"I'll try a few more hotels first. "

"No use--not an openin'. "

"Well, I've usually found that the best place to look for things iswhere people say they don't grow. "

Marie Louise thought that this was most excellent advice. She decidedto follow it and keep on trying. 

As she was about to move toward the door the elevator, like a greatcornucopia, spilled a bevy of men and women into the lobby. Leadingthem all came a woman of charm, of distinction, of self-possession. She was smiling over one handsome shoulder at a British officer. 

The forlorn Marie Louise saw her, and her eyes rejoiced; her face waskindled with haven-beacons. She pressed forward with her hand out, andthough she only murmured the words, a cry of relief thrilled them. 

"Lady Clifton-Wyatt! What luck to find you!"

Lady Clifton-Wyatt turned with a smile of welcome in advance. Her handwent forward. Her smile ended suddenly. Blank amazement passed intocontemptuous wrath. Her hand went back. With the disgust of a sickeagle in a zoo, she drew a film over her eyes. 

The smile on Marie Louise's face also hung unsupported for a moment. It faded, then rallied. She spoke with patience, underlining the wordswith an affectionate reproof:

"My dear Lady Clifton-Wyatt, I am Miss Webling--Marie Louise. Don'tyou know me?"

Lady Clifton-Wyatt answered: "I did. But I don't!"

Then she turned and moved toward the dining-room door. 

The head waiter bowed with deference and command and beckoned LadyClifton-Wyatt. She obeyed him with meek hauteur. 

CHAPTER II

As she came out of the first hotel of her selection and rejectionMarie Louise asked the car-starter the name of another. He mentionedthe New Willard. 

It was not far, and she was there before she had time to recover fromthe staggering effect of Lady Clifton-Wyatt's bludgeon-like snub. Astimidly as the waif and estray that she was, she ventured into thecrowded, gorgeous lobby with its lofty and ornate ceiling on its bigcolumns. At one side a long corridor ran brokenly up a steep hill. Itwas populous with loungers who had just finished their dinners or werewaiting for a chance to get into the dining-rooms. Orchestra music waslilting down the aisle. 

When Marie Louise had threaded the crowd and reached the desk a verypolite and eager clerk asked her if she had a reservation. He seemedto be as regretful as she when she said no. He sighed, "We've turnedaway a hundred people in the last two hours. "

She accepted her dismissal dumbly, then paused to ask, "I say, do youby any chance know where Grinden Hall is?"

He shook his head and turned to another clerk to ask, "Do you know ofa hotel here named Grinden Hall?"

The other shook his head, too. There was a vast amount of head-shakinggoing on everywhere in Washington. He added, "I'm new here. " Nearlyeverybody seemed to be new here. It seemed as if the entire populacehad moved into a ready-made town. 

Marie Louise had barely the strength to explain, "Grinden Hall is notan hotel; it is a home, in Rosslyn, wherever that is. "

"Oh, Rosslyn--that's across the river in Virginia. "

"Do you know, by any chance, Major Thomas Widdicombe?"

He shook his head. Major Widdicombe was a big man, but the town wasfairly swarming with men bigger than he. There were shoals ofmagnates, but giants in their own communities were petty nuisanceshere pleading with room-clerks for cots and with head waiters forbread. The lobby was a thicket of prominent men set about like trees. Several of them had the Congressional look. Later history would recordthem as the historic statesmen of titanic debates, men by whoseeloquence and leadership and committee-room toil the Republic would berevolutionized in nearly every detail, and billions made to flow likewater. 

As Marie Louise collected her porter and her hand-luggage for her nextexit she saw Ross Davidge just coming in. She stepped behind a largepolitician or something. She forgot that she owed Davidge money, andshe felt a rather pleasurable agitation in this game of hide-and-seek, but something made her shy of Davidge. For one thing, it was ludicrousto be caught being turned out of a second hotel. 

The politician walked away, and Davidge would have seen Marie Louiseif he had not stopped short and turned a cold shoulder on her, just asthe distant orchestra, which had been crooning one of Jerome Kern'smost insidiously ingratiating melodies, began to blare with all itsmight the sonorities of "The Star-spangled Banner. "

Miss Webling saw the people in the alley getting to their feet slowly, awkwardly. A number of army and navy officers faced the music andstood rigid at attention. The civilians in the lobby who were alreadystanding began to pull their hats off sheepishly like embarrassedpeasants. People were still as self-conscious as if the song had justbeen written. They would soon learn to feel the tremendous importanceof that eternal query, the only national anthem, perhaps, that everbegan with a question and ended with a prayer. Americans would soonlearn to salute it with eagerness and to deal ferociously withmen--and women, too--who were slow to rise. 

Marie Louise watched Davidge curiously. He was manifestly on fire withpatriotism, but he was ashamed to show it, ashamed to stand erect andclick his heels. He fumbled his hat and slouched, and looked as if hehad been caught in some guilt. He was indeed guilty of a childishfervor. He wanted to shout, he wanted to weep, he wanted to fightsomebody; but he did not know how to express himself without strikingan attitude, and he was incapable of being a _poseur_--except as anAmerican posily affects poselessness. 

When the anthem ended, people sank into their chairs with sighs ofrelief; the officers sharply relaxed; the civilians straightened upand felt at home again. Ross Davidge marched to the desk, not noticingMarie Louise, who motioned to her porter to come along with herluggage and went to hunt shelter at the Raleigh Hotel. She kept hertaxi now and left her hand-baggage in it while she received theinevitable rebuff. From there she traveled to hotel after hotel, marching in with the dismal assurance that she would march right outagain. 

The taxi-driver was willing to take her to hotels as long as they andher money lasted. Her strength and her patience gave out first. At theLafayette she advanced wearily, disconsolately to the desk. She sawRoss Davidge stretched out in a big chair. He did not see her. His hatwas pulled over his eyes, and he had the air of angry failure. If hedespaired, what chance had she?

She received the usual regrets from the clerk. As she left the deskthe floor began to wabble. She hurried to an inviting divan anddropped down, beaten and distraught. She heard some one approach, andher downcast eyes saw a pair of feet move up and halt before her. 

Since Lady Clifton-Wyatt's searing glance and words Marie Louise hadfelt branded visibly, and unworthy of human kindness and shelter. Shewas piteously grateful to this man for his condescension in saying:

"You'll have to excuse me for bothering you again. But I'm afraidyou're in worse trouble than I am. Nobody seems to be willing to takeyou in. "

He meant this as a light jocularity, but it gave her a moment'sserious fear that he had overheard Lady Clifton-Wyatt's slashingremark. But he went on:

"Won't you allow me to try to find you a place? Don't you know anybodyhere?"

"I know numbers of people, but I don't know where any of them are. "

She told him of her efforts to get to Rosslyn by telephone, bytelegraph, by train or taxicab. Little tears added a sparkle tolaughter, but threatened rain. She ended with, "And now that I'veunloaded my riddles on you, aren't you sorry you spoke?"

"Not yet, " he said, with a subtle compliment pleasantly implying thatshe was perilous. Everybody likes to be thought perilous. He went on:"I don't know Rosslyn, but it can't be much of a place for size. Ifyou have a friend there, we'll find her if we have to go to everyhouse in Rosslyn. "

"But it's getting rather late, isn't it, to be knocking at all thedoors all by myself?"

She had not meant to hint, and it was a mere coincidence that hethought to say:

"Couldn't I go along?"

"Thank you, but it's out in the country rather far, I'm afraid. "

"Then I must go along. "

"I couldn't think of troubling you. "

The end of it was that he had his way, or she hers, or both theirs. Hemade no nonsense of adventure or escapade about it, and she was toowell used to traveling alone to feel ashamed or alarmed. He led her tothe taxi, told the driver that Grinden Hall was their objective andmust be found. Then he climbed in with her, and they rode in a darkbroken with the fitful lightnings of street-lamps and motors. 

The taxi glided out M Street. The little shops of Georgetown wentsidelong by. The cab turned abruptly to the left and clattered acrossthe old aqueduct bridge. On a broad reach of the Potomac the new-risenmoon spread a vast sheet of tin-foil of a crinkled sheen. This was allthat was beautiful about the sordid neighborhood, but it was verybeautiful, and tender to a strange degree. 

Once across, the driver stopped and leaned round to call in at thedoor:

"This is Rosslyn. Where do yew-all want to go next?"

"Grinden Hall. Ask somebody. "

"Ask who? They ain't a soul tew be saw. "

They waited in the dark awhile; then Davidge got out and, seeing astreet-car coming down through the hills like a dragon in fieryscales, he stopped it to ask the motorman of Grinden Hall. He knewnothing, but a sleepy passenger said that he reckoned that thatwas the fancy name of Mr. Sawtell's place, and he shouted thedirections:

"Yew go raht along this road ovah the caw tracks, and unda a bridgeand keep a-goin' up a ridge and ova till yew come to a shawp tu'n tothe raht. Big whaht mansion, ain't it?"

"I don't know, " said Davidge. "I never saw it. "

"Well, I reckon that's the place. Only 'Hall' I knaow about up heah. "

The motorman kicked his bell and started off. 

"Nothing like trying, " said Davidge, and clambered in. The taxicabwent veering and yawing over an unusually Virginian bad road. After alittle they entered a forest. The driver threw on his search-light, and it tore from the darkness pictures of forest eerily green in theglare--old trees slanting out, deep channels blackening intomysterious glades. The car swung sharply to the right and growled up ahill, curving and swirling and threatening to capsize at every moment. The sense of being lost was irresistible. 

Marie Louise fell to pondering; suddenly she grew afraid to findGrinden Hall. She knew that Polly knew Lady Clifton-Wyatt. They mighthave met since Polly wrote that letter. Lady Clifton-Wyatt hadperhaps--had doubtless--told Polly all about Marie Louise. Polly wouldprobably refuse her shelter. She knew Polly: there was no middleground between her likes and dislikes; she doted or she hated. She wascapable of smothering her friends with affection and of making themancient enemies in an instant. For her enemies she had no use ortolerance. She let them know her wrath. 

The car stopped. The driver got down and went forward to a narrow laneopening from the narrow road. There was a sign-board there. He read itby the light of the moon and a few matches. He came back and said:

"Here she is. Grinden Hall is what she says on that theah sign-bode. "

Marie Louise was in a flutter. "What time is it?" she asked. 

Davidge held his watch up and lighted a match. 

"A little after one. "

"It's awfully late, " she said. 

The car was turning at right angles now, and following a narrow trackcurling through a lawn studded with shrubbery. There was a moment'sview of all Washington beyond the valley of the moon-illumined river. Its lights gleamed in a patient vigilance. It had the look of the holycity that it is. The Capitol was like a mosque in Mecca, the Mecca ofthe faithful who believe in freedom and equality. The WashingtonMonument, picked out from the dark by a search-light, was a loftysteeple in a dream-world. 

Davidge caught a quick breath of piety and reverence. Marie Louise wastoo frightened by her own destiny to think of the world's anxieties. 

The car raced round the circular road. Her eyes were snatched from thedrowsy town, small with distance, to the imminent majesty of a greatColonial portico with columns tall and stately and white, a temple ofParthenonian dignity in the radiance of the priestly moon. There wasnot a light in any window, no sign of life. 

The car stopped. But-- Marie Louise simply dared not face Polly andrisk a scene in the presence of Davidge. She tapped on the glass andmotioned the driver to go on. He could not believe her gestures. Sheleaned out and whispered:

"Go on--go on! I'll not stop!"

Davidge was puzzled, but he said nothing; and Marie Louise made noexplanation till they were outside again, and then she said:

"Do you think I'm insane?"

"This is not my party, " he said. 

She tried to explain: "There wasn't a light to be seen. They couldn'thave got my telegram. They weren't expecting me. They may not havebeen at home. I hadn't the courage to stop and wake the house. "

That was not her real reason, but Davidge asked for no other. If henoted that she was strangely excited over a trifle like getting a fewservants and a hostess out of bed, he made no comment. 

When she pleaded, "Do you mind if I go back to Washington with you?"he chuckled: "It's certainly better than going alone. But what willyou do when you get there?"

"I'll go to the railroad station and sit up, " Marie Louise announced. "I'm no end sorry to have been such a nuisance. "

"Nuisance!" he protested, and left his intonation to convey all thecompliments he dared not utter. 

The cab dived into another woods and ran clattering down a rovinghill road. Up the opposite steep it went with a weary gait. It crawledto the top with turtle-like labor. Davidge knew the symptoms, and hefrowned in the shadow, yet smiled a little. 

The car went banging down, held by a squealing brake. The light grewfaint, and in the glimmer there was a close shave at the edge of ahazardous bridge over a deep, deep ravine. The cab rolled forward onthe rough planks under its impetus, but it picked up no speed. Half-way across, it stopped. 

"Whatever is the matter?" Marie Louise exclaimed. 

Davidge leaned out and called to the driver, "What's the matter now?"though he knew full well. 

"Gas is gone, I reckon, " the fellow snarled, as he got down. After amoment's examination he confirmed his diagnosis. "Yep, gas is allgone. I been on the go too long on this one call. "

"In Heaven's name, where can you get some more gasolene?" said MarieLouise. 

"Nearest garodge is at Rosslyn, I reckon, lady. "

"How far is that?"

"I'd hate to say, lady. Three, fo' mahls, most lahkly, and prob'lyclosed naow. "

"Go wake it up at once. "

"No thanky, lady. I got mahty po' feet for them hills. "

"What do you propose to do?"

"Ain't nothin' tew dew but wait fo' somebody to come along. "

"When will that be?"

"Along todes mawnin' they ought to be somebody along, milkman orsomethin'. "

"Cheerful!" said Marie Louise. 

"Batt'ries kind o' sick, tew, looks lahk. I was engaged by the houah, remember, " the driver reminded them as he clambered back to his place, put his feet up on the dashboard and let his head roll into a positionof ease. 

The dimming lights waned and did not wax. By and by they went wherelights go when they go out. There was no light now except the moonset, shimmering mistily across the tree-tops of the rotunda of the forest, just enough to emphasize the black of the well they were in. 

CHAPTER III

How would she take it?

That was what interested Davidge most. What was she really like? Andwhat would she do with this intractable situation? What would thesituation do with her? For situations make people as well as peoplesituations. 

Now was the time for an acquaintance of souls. An almost absolute darkerased them from each other's sight. Their eyes were as useless as theuseless eyes of fish in subterrene caverns. Miss Webling could havetold Davidge the color of his eyes, of course, being a woman. Butbeing a man, he could not remember the color of hers, because he hadnoted nothing about her eyes except that they were very eye-ish. 

He would have blundered ridiculously in describing her appearance. Hisinformation of her character was all to gain. He had seen herwandering about Washington homeless among the crowds and turned fromevery door. She had borne the ordeal as well as could be asked. Shehad accepted his proffer of protection with neither terror norassurance. 

He supposed that in a similar plight the old-fashioned woman--or atleast the ubiquitous woman of the special eternal type thatfictionists call "old-fashioned"--would have been either a bleating, tremulous gazelle or a brazen siren. But Miss Webling behaved likeneither of these. She took his gallantry with a matter-of-factreasonableness, much as a man would accept the offer of another man'scompanionship on a tiresome journey. She gave none of thosemultitudinous little signals by which a woman indicates that she iseither afraid that a man will try to hug her or afraid that he willnot. She was apparently planning neither to flirt nor to faint. 

Davidge asked in a matter-of-fact tone: "Do you think you could walkto town? The driver says it's only three-fo' miles. "

She sighed: "My feet would never make it. And I have on high-heeledboots. "

His "Too bad!" conveyed more sympathy than she expected. He hadanother suggestion. 

"You could probably get back to the home of Mrs. Widdicombe. Thatisn't so far away. "

She answered, bluntly, "I shouldn't think of it!"

He made another proposal without much enthusiasm. 

"Then I'd better walk in to Washington and get a cab and come back foryou. "

She was even blunter about this: "I shouldn't dream of that. You're awreck, too. "

He lied pluckily, "Oh, I shouldn't mind. "

"Well, I should! And I don't fancy the thought of staying here alonewith that driver. "

He smiled in the dark at the double-edged compliment of implying thatshe was safer with him than with the driver. But she did not hear hissmile. 

She apologized, meekly: "I've got you into an awful mess, haven't I? Iusually do make a mess of everything I undertake. You'd better bewareof me after this. "

His "I'll risk it" was a whole cyclopedia of condensed gallantry. 

They sat inept for a time, thinking aimlessly, seeing nothing, hearingonly the bated breath of the night wind groping stealthily through thetree-tops, and from far beneath, the still, small voice of a brookfeeling its way down its unlighted stairs. 

At last her voice murmured, "Are you quite too horribly uncomfortablefor words?"

His voice was a deep-toned bell somehow articulate: "I couldn't bemore comfortable except for one thing. I'm all out of cigars. "

"Oh!" He had a vague sense of her mental struggle before she spokeagain, timidly:

"I fancy you don't smoke cigarettes?"

"When I can't get cigars; any tobacco is better than none. "

Another blank of troubled silence, then, "I wonder if you'd say thatof mine. "

Her voice was both defiant and trepidate. He laughed. "I'll guaranteeto. "

A few years before he would have accepted a woman's confession thatshe smoked cigarettes as a confession of complete abandonment to allthe other vices. A few years farther back, indeed, and he would havesaid that any man who smoked cigarettes was worthless. Since then hehad seen so many burly heroes and so many unimpeachable ladies smokethem that he had almost forgotten his old prejudice. In some of theUnited States it was then against the law for men (not to say womenand children) to sell or give away or even to possess cigarettes. After the war crusades would start against all forms of tobacco, andat least one clergyman would call every man who smoked cigarettes a"drug-addict. " It is impossible for anybody to be moral enough not tobe immoral to somebody. 

But intolerances go out of style as suddenly as new creeds come in. Heknew soldiers who held a lighted stub in one hand while they rolled acigarette with the other. He knew Red Cross saints who could puff aforbidden cigarette like a prayer. He wondered how he or any one hadever made such a fierce taboo of a wisp of aromatic leaves kindled ina tiny parcel. Such strange things people choose for their tests ofvirtue--tests that have nothing whatever to do with the case, whethersavage or civilized folk invent them. 

He heard Miss Webling fumbling in a hand-bag. He heard the click ofher rings against metal. He heard the little noise of the portals of acigarette-case opening. His hands and hers stumbled together, and hisfingers selected a little cylinder from the row. 

He produced a match and held the flame before her. He filled his eyeswith her vivid features as the glow detached her from the dark. Of hereyes he saw only the big lids, but he noted her lips, pursed a triflewith the kissing muscles, and he sighed as she blew a smoke about herlike a goddess creating a cloud of vanishment. He lighted his owncigarette and threw the match away. They returned to a perfect gloommitigated by the slight increase and decrease in the vividness oftheir tobacco-tips as they puffed. 

She was the first to speak:

"I have a whole box of fags in my hand-bag. I usually have a goodsupply. When you want another-- Does it horrify you to see a womansmoke?"

He was very superior to his old bigotry. "Quite the contrary!"

This was hardly honest enough, so he said:

"It did once, though. I remember how startled I was years ago when Iwas in England and I saw ladies smoking in hotel corridors; and on thesteamer coming back, there was a countess or something who sat in thebalcony and puffed away. Of course, at the big dinners in London theysmoked, too. They did at Sir Joseph's, I remember. "

He did not see her wince at this name. 

"There were some odd fish surrounding old Sir Joseph. Some of them Icouldn't quite make out. He was just a little hard to get at, himself. I got very huffy at the old boy once or twice, I'm sorry to say. Itwas about ships. I'm a crank on ships. Everybody has at least onemania. That's mine--ships. Sir Joseph and I quarreled about them. Hewanted to buy all I could make, but he was in no hurry to have 'emfinished. I told him he talked more like a German trying to stopproduction than like a Britisher trying to speed it up. That made himhuffy. I'm sorry I did him such an injustice. When you insult a man, and he dies--What a terrible repartee dying is! He had offered me abig price, too, but it's not money I want to make; it's ships. And Iwant to see 'em at work. Did you ever see a ship launched?"

"No, I never did. "

"There's nothing prettier. Come over to my shipyard and I'll show you. We're going to put one over before long. I'll let you christen her. "

"That would be wonderful. "

"It's better than that. The civilized world is starting out on themost poetic job it ever undertook. "

"Indeed?"

"Yep. The German sharks are gradually dragging all our shipping underwater. The inventors don't seem able to devise any cure for thesubmarines except to find 'em and fight 'em. They're hard to find, andthey won't fight. But they keep popping up and stabbing our prettyships to death. And now the great game is on, the greatest game thatcivilized men ever fought with hell. "

"What's that?"

"We're going to try to build ships faster than the Hun can sink 'em. Isn't that a glorious job for you? Was there ever a--well, a nobleridea? We can't kill the beast; so we're going to choke him to deathwith food. " He laughed to hide his embarrassing exaltation. 

She was not afraid of it: "It is rather a stupendous inspiration, isn't it?"

"Who was it said he'd rather have written Gray's 'Elegy' than takenQuebec? I'd rather have thought up this thought than written theIliad. Nobody knows who invented the idea. He's gone to oblivionalready, but he has done more for the salvation of freedom than allthe poets of time. "

This shocked her, yet thrilled her with its loftiness. She thrilled tohim suddenly, too. She saw that she was within the aura of a fieryspirit--a business man aflame. And she saw in a white light that thebuilders of things, even of perishable things, are as great as theweavers of immortal words--not so well remembered, of course, forposterity has only the words. Poets and highbrows scorn them, butliving women who can see the living men are not so foolish. They areapt to prefer the maker to the writer. They reward the poet with asmile and a compliment, but give their lives to the manufacturers, themachinists, the merchants. Then the neglected poets and their toadiesthe critics grow sarcastic about this and think that they havecondemned women for materialism when they are themselves blind to itsgrandeur. They ignore the divinity that attends the mining andsmelting and welding and selling of iron things, the hewing and sawingand planing of woods, the sowing and reaping and distribution offoods. They make a priestcraft and a ritual of artful language, andare ignorant of their own heresy. But since they deal in words, theyhave a fearful advantage and use it for their own glorification, aspriests are wont to do. 

Marie Louise had a vague insight into the truth, but was not aware ofher own wisdom. She knew only that this Davidge who had made himselfher gallant, her messenger and servant, was really a genius, a giant. She felt that the rôles should be reversed and she should be waitingupon him. 

In Sir Joseph's house there had been a bit of statuary representingHercules and Omphale. The mighty one was wearing the woman's kirtleand carrying her distaff, and the girl was staggering under thelion-skin and leaning on the bludgeon. Marie Louise always hated thegroup. It seemed to her to represent just the way so many women triedto master the men they infatuated. But Marie Louise despisedmasterable men, and she had no wish to make a toy of one. Yet she hadwondered if a man and a woman could not love each other more perfectlyif neither were master or mistress, but both on a parity--a team, indeed. 

Davidge enjoyed talking to her, at least. That comforted her. When shecame back from her meditations he was saying:

"My company is reaching out. We've bought a big tract of swamp, andwe're filling it in and clearing it, and we're going to lay out ashipyard there and turn out ships--standardized ships--as fast as wecan. We're steadying the ground first, sinking concrete piles in steelcasing--if you put 'em end to end, they'd reach twenty-five miles. They're just to hold the ground together. That's what the wholecountry has got to do before it can really begin to begin--put somesolid ground under its feet. When the ship is launched she mustn'tstick on the ways or in the mud. 

"Of course, I'd rather go as a soldier, but I've got no right to. Ican ride or walk all day, and shoot straight and stand all kinds ofweather, and killing Germans would just about tickle me to death. Butthis is a time when every man has got to do what he can do better thanhe can do anything else. And I've spent my life in shipyards. 

"I was a common laborer first--swinging a sledge; I had an arm then!That was before we had compressed-air riveters. I was a union man andwent on strike and fought scabs and made the bosses eat crow. Now I'mone of the bosses. I'm what they call a capitalist and an oppressor oflabor. Now I put down strikes and fight the unions--not that I don'tbelieve in 'em, not that I don't know where labor was before they hadunions and where it would be without 'em to-day and to-morrow, butbecause all these things have to be adjusted gradually, and becausethe main thing, after all, is building ships--just now, of course, especially. 

"When I was a workman I took pride in my job, and I thought I was anartist at it. I wouldn't take anybody's lip. Now that I'm a boss Ihave to take everybody's lip, because I can't strike. I can't go to myboss and demand higher wages and easier hours, because my boss is themarket. But I don't suppose there's anything on earth that interestsyou less than labor problems. "

"They might if I knew the first thing about them. "

"Well, the first thing is that they are the next war, the big warafter this one's over. The job is to keep it down till peace comes. Then hell will pop--if you'll pardon my French. I'm all for laborgetting its rights, but some of the men don't want the right towork--they want the right to loaf. I say let the sky be the limit ofany man's opportunity--the sky and his own limitations and ambitions. But a lot of the workmen don't want opportunity; they've got noambition; they hate to build things. They talk about the terribleconditions their families live in, and how gorgeously the rich menlive. But the rich men were poor once, and the poor can be rich--ifthey can and will. 

"The war is going to be the fight between the makers and the breakers, the uplifters and the down-draggers, you might say. And it's going tobe some war!

"The men on the wrong side--what I call the wrong side, at least--arejust as much our enemies as the Germans. We've got to watch 'em justas close. They'd just as soon burn an unfinished ship as the Germanswould sink her when she's on her way. 

"That little ship I'm building now! Would you believe it? It has to beguarded every minute. Most of our men are all right. They'd workthemselves to death for the ship, and they pour out their sweat likeprayers. But sneaks get in among 'em, and it only takes a fellow witha bomb one minute to undo the six months' work of a hundred. "

"Tell me about your ship, " she said. 

A ship she could understand. It was personal and real; labor theorieswere as foreign to her as problems in metaphysics. 

"Well, it's my first-born, this ship, " he said. "Of course I've builta lot of other ships, but they were for other people--just jobs, forwages or commissions. This one is all my own--a freighter, ugly as sinand commodious as hell--I beg your pardon! But the world needsfreighters--the hungry mobs of Europe, they'll be glad to see mylittle ship come in, if ever she does. If she doesn't I'll-- Butshe'll last a few trips before they submarine her--I guess. "

He fell silent among his visions and left her to her own. 

He saw himself wandering about a shipyard, a poor thing, but his own. His mind was like a mold-loft full of designs and detail-drawings toscale, blue-prints and models. On the way a ship was growing for him. As yet she was a ghastly thing all ribs, like the skeleton of someancient sea-monster left ashore at high tide and perished eons back, leaving only the bones. 

His fancy saw her transverses taking on their iron flesh. He saw theday of her nativity. He heard them knock out the blocks that loweredthe sliding-ways to the groundways and sent her swirling into thesea. 

He saw her ready for her cargo, saw a Niagara of wheat cascading intoher hold. He saw her go forth into the sea. 

Then he saw the ship stagger, a wound opened in her side, from thebullet of a submarine. 

It was all so vivid that he spoke aloud in a frenzy of ire:

"If the Germans kill my ship I'll kill a German! By God, I will!"

He was startled by the sound of his own voice, and he begged herpardon humbly. 

She had been away in reverie, too. The word "submarine" had sent herback into her haunting remembrances of the _Lusitania_ and of her ownhelpless entanglement in the fate of other ships--their names asunknown to her as the names and faces of the men that died with them, or perished of starvation and thirst in the lifeboats sent adrift. Thethought of these poor anonymities frightened her. She shuddered withsuch violence that Davidge was startled from his own wrath. 

"You're having a chill, " he said. "I wish you would take my coat. Youdon't want to get sick. "

She shook her head and chattered, "No, no. "

"Then you'd better get out and walk up and down this bridge awhile. There's not even a lap-robe here. "

"I should like to walk, I think. "

She stepped out, aided by his hand, a strong hand, and warm about hericy fingers. Her knees were weak, and he set her elbow in the hollowof his arm and guided her. They walked like the blind leading theblind through a sea of pitch. The only glimmer was the littlescratches of light pinked in the dead sky by a few stars. 

"'It's beautiful overhead, if you're going that way, '" Davidgequoted. 

He set out briskly, but Marie Louise hung back timidly. 

"Not so fast! I can't see a thing. "

"That's the best time to keep moving. "

"But aren't you afraid to push on when you can't see where you'regoing?" she demanded. 

"Who can ever tell where he's going? The sunlight is no guaranty. We're all bats in the daytime and not cats at night. The main thing isto sail on and on and on. "

She caught a little of his recklessness--suffered him to hurry her toand fro through the inky air till she was panting for breath andtired. Then they groped to the rail and peered vainly down at thebrook, which, like an unbroken child, was heard and not seen. Theyleaned their elbows on the rail and stared into the muffling gloom. 

"I think I'll have another of your cigarettes, " he said. 

"So will I, " said she. 

There was a cozy fireside moment as they took their lights from thesame match. When he threw the match overboard he said:

"Like a human life, eh? A little spark between dark and dark. "

He was surprised at stumbling into rhyme, and apologized. But shesaid:

"Do you know, I rather like that. It reminds me of a poem about arain-storm--Russell Lowell's, I fancy; it told of a flock of sheepscampering down a dusty road and clattering across a bridge and backto the dust again. He said it was like human life, 'a little noisebetween two silences. '"

"H'm!" was the best Davidge could do. But the agony of the brevity ofexistence seized them both by the hearts, and their hearts throbbedand bled like birds crushed in the claws of hawks. Their hearts hadsuch capabilities of joy, such songs in them, such love and longing, such delight in beauty--and beauty was so beautiful, so frequent, sothrilling! Yet they could spend but a glance, a sigh, a regret, agratitude, and then their eyes were out, their ears still, their lipscold, their hearts dust. The ache of it was beyond bearing. 

"Let's walk. I'm cold again, " she whispered. 

He felt that she needed the sense of hurry, and he went so fast thatshe had to run to keep up with him. There seemed to be some comfort inthe privilege of motion for its own sake; motion was life; motion wasgodhood; motion was escape from the run-down clock of death. 

Back and forth they kept their promenade, till her body refused toanswer the whips of restlessness. Her brain began to shut up shop. Itwould do no more thinking this night. 

She stumbled toward the taxicab. Davidge lifted her in, and she sankdown, completely done. She fell asleep. 

Davidge took his place in the cab and wondered lazily at the quaintadventure. He was only slightly concerned with wondering at the causeof her uneasiness. He was used to minding his own business. 

She slept so well that when the groping search-light of a comingautomobile began to slash the night and the rubber wheels boomedacross the bridge she did not waken. If the taxi-driver heard itssound, he preferred to pretend not to. The passengers in the passingcar must have been surprised, but they took their wonderment withthem. We so often imagine mischief when there is innocence and _viceversa_; for opportunity is just as likely to create distaste asinterest and the lack of it to instigate enterprise. 

Davidge drowsed and smiled contentedly in the dark and did not knowthat he was not awake until at some later time he was half aroused bythe meteoric glow and whiz of another automobile. It had gone beforehe was quite awake, and he sank back into sleep. 

Before he knew it, many black hours had slid by and daylight was come;the rosy fingers of light were moving about, recreating the world tovision, sketching a landscape hazily on a black canvas, then stipplingin the colors, and finishing, swiftly but gradually, the details to aninconceivable minuteness of definition, giving each leaf its own sharpcontour and every rock its every facet. From the brook below amistlike cigarette smoke exhaled. The sky was crimson, then pink, thenamber, then blue. 

Birds began to twitter, to fashion little crystal stanzas, and tohurl themselves about the valley as if catapults propelled them. Onesongster perched on the iron rail of the bridge and practised a vocallesson, cocking his head from side to side and seeming to approve hisown skill. 

A furred caterpillar resumed his march across the Appian Way, makingof each crack between boards a great abyss to be bridged cautiouslywith his own body. The day's work was begun, while Davidge drowsed andsmiled contentedly at the side of the strange, sleeping woman as ifthey had been married for years. 

CHAPTER IV

The sky was filled with morning when a noise startled Davidge out ofnullity. He was amazed to find a strange woman asleep at his elbow. Heremembered her suddenly. 

With a clatter of wheels and cans and hoofs a milkman's wagon and teamcame out of the hills. Davidge stepped down from the car and stoppedthe loud-voiced, wide-mouthed driver with a gesture. He spoke in a lowvoice which the milkman did not copy. The taxi-driver woke to theextent of one eye and a horrible yawn, while Davidge explained hisplight. 

"Gasolene gave out, hey?" said the milkman. 

"It certainly did, " said Davidge, "and I'd be very much obliged ifyou'd get me some more. "

"Wa-all, I'm purty busy. "

"I'll pay you anything you ask. "

The milkman was modest in his ambitions. 

"How'd two dollars strike ye?"

"Five would be better if you hurried. "

This looked suspicious, but the milkman consented. 

"Wa-all, all right, but what would I fetch the gasolene in?"

"One of your milk-cans. "

"They're all fuller melk. "

"I'll buy one, milk and all. "

"Wa-all, I reckon I'll hev to oblige you. "

"Here's five dollars on account. There'll be five more when you getback. "

"Wa-all, all ri-ight. Get along there, Jawn Henry. "

John Henry got along. Even his _cloppety-clop_ did not waken MissWebling. 

The return of the rattletrap and the racket of filling the tank withthe elixir finished her sleep, however. She woke in confusion, finding herself sitting up, dressed, in her little room, with threestrange men at work outside. 

When the tank was filled, Davidge entered her compartment with acheery "Good morning, " and slammed the door after him. The gasolene, like the breath of a god, gave life to the dead. The car snarled andjumped, and went roaring across the bridge, up the hill and downanother, and down that and up another. 

Here they caught, through a frame of leaves, a glimpse of Washingtonin the sunrise, a great congregation of marble temples and trees andsky-colored waters, the shaft of the Monument lighted with the milkyradiance of a mountain peak on its upper half, the lower part stilldusk with valley shadow, and across the plateau of roofs the solemnCapitol in as mythical a splendor as the stately dome that Kubla Khandecreed in Xanadu. 

This sight of Canaan from Pisgah-height was no luxury to thetaxi-driver, and he hustled his coffee-grinder till he reached Rosslynonce more, crossed the Potomac's many-tinted stream, and rattledthrough Georgetown and the shabby, sleeping little shops of M Streetinto the tree-tunnels of Washington. 

He paused to say, "Where do we go from here?"

Davidge and Marie Louise looked their chagrin. They still had no placeto go. 

"To the Pennsylvania Station, " said Davidge. "We can at least getbreakfast there. "

The streets of Washington are never so beautiful as at this still hourwhen nothing stirs but the wind in the trees and the grass on thelawns, and hardly anybody is abroad except the generals on theirbronze horses fronting their old battles with heroic eyes. The stationoutside was something Olympic but unfrequented. Inside, it was a vastcathedral of untenanted pews. 

Davidge paid the driver a duke's ransom. There was no porter about, and he carried Marie Louise's suit-cases to the parcel-room. Herbaggage had had a long journey. She retreated to the women's room forwhat toilet she could make, and came forth with a very much washedface. Somnambulistic negroes took their orders at the lunch-counter. 

Marie Louise had weakly decided to return to New York again, but thehot coffee was full of defiance, and she said that she would makeanother try at Mrs. Widdicombe as soon as a human hour arrived. 

And she showed a tactfulness that won much respect from Davidge whenshe said:

"Do get your morning paper and read it. I'm sure I have nothing to saythat I haven't said, and if I had, it could wait till you find out howthe battle goes in Europe. "

He bought her a paper, too, and they sat on a long bench, exchangingcomments on the news that made almost every front page a chapter inworld history. 

She heard him groan with rage. When she looked up he pointed to thesubmarine record of that week. 

"Last week the losses took a horrible jump--forty ships of oversixteen hundred tons. This week it's almost as bad--thirty-eightships of over sixteen hundred, thirteen ships under, and eightfishing-vessels. Think of it--all of 'em merchant-ships!

"Pretty soon I've got to send my ship out to run the gantlet. She'slike Little Red Riding Hood going through the forest to take oldGranny Britain some food. And the wolves are waiting for her. What arace of people, what a pack of beasts!"

Marie Louise had an idea. "I'll tell you a pretty name for yourship--_Little Red Riding Hood_. Why don't you give her that?"

He laughed. "The name would be heavier than the cargo. I wonder whatthe crew would make of it. No, this ship, my first one, is to be namedafter"--he lowered his voice as one does on entering a church--"aftermy mother. "

"Oh, that's beautiful!" Marie Louise said. "And will she be there tochristen-- Oh, I remember, you said--"

He nodded three or four times in wretchedness. But the grief was hisown, and he must not exploit it. He assumed an abrupt cheer. 

"I'll name the next ship after you, if you don't mind. "

This was too glorious to be believed. What bouquet or jewel couldequal it? She clapped her hands like a child hearing a Christmaspromise. 

"What is your first name, Miss Webling?"

She suddenly realized that they were not, after all, such old friendsas the night had seemed to make them. 

"My first two names, " she said, "are Marie Louise. "

"Oh! Well, then we'll call the ship _Marie Louise_. "

She saw that he was a little disappointed in the name, so she said:

"When I was a girl they called me Mamise. "

She was puzzled to see how this startled him. 

He jumped audibly and fastened a searching gaze on her. Mamise! He hadthought of Mamise when he saw her, and now she gave the name. Couldshe possibly be the Mamise he remembered? He started to ask her, butchecked himself and blushed. A fine thing it would be to ask thissplendid young princess, "Pardon me, Princess, but were you playing incheap vaudeville a few years ago?" It was an improbable coincidencethat he should meet her thus, but an almost impossible coincidencethat she should wear both the name and the mien of Mamise and not beMamise. But he dared not ask her. 

She noted his blush and stammer, but she was afraid to ask theircause. 

"_Mamise_ it shall be, " he said. 

And she answered, "I was never so honored in my life. "

"Of course, " he warned her, "the boat isn't built yet. In fact, thenew yard isn't built yet. There's many a slip 'twixt the keel and theship. She might never live to be launched. Some of these sneakingloafers on our side may blow her up before the submarines get a chanceat her. "

There he was, speaking of submarines once more! She shivered, and shelooked at the clock and got up and said:

"I think I'll try Mrs. Widdicombe now. "

"Let me go along, " said Davidge. 

But she shook her head. "I've taken enough of your life--for thepresent. "

Trying to concoct a felicitous reply, he achieved only an eloquentsilence. He put her and her luggage aboard a taxicab, and then shegave him her most cordial hand. 

"I could never hope to thank you enough, " she said, "and I won't beginto try. Send me your address when you have one, and I'll mail you Mrs. Widdicombe's confidential telephone number. I do want to see you soonagain, unless you've had enough of me for a lifetime. "

He did very handsomely by the lead she gave him:

"I couldn't have enough--not in a lifetime. "

The taxi-driver snipped the strands of their gaze as he whisked heraway. 

Marie Louise felt a forenoon elation in the cool air and the brightstreets, thick with men and women in herds hurrying to their patriotictasks, and a multitude of officers and enlisted men seeking theirdesks. She was here to join them, and she hoped that it would not betoo hard to find some job with a little thrill of service in it. 

As she went through Georgetown now M Street was different--full ofmarketers and of briskness. The old bridge was crowded. As her carswooped up the hills and skirted the curves to Polly Widdicombe's shebegan to be afraid again. But she was committed to the adventure andshe was eager for the worst of it. She found the house without troubleand saw in the white grove of columns Polly herself, bidding good-byto her husband, whose car was waiting at the foot of the steps. 

Polly hailed Marie Louise with cries of such delight that before thecab had made the circle and drawn up at the steps the hunted look wasgone and youth come back to Marie Louise's anxious smile. Polly kissedher and presented her husband, pointing to the gold leaves on hisshoulders with militaristic pride. 

Widdicombe blushed and said: "Fearless desk-fighter has to hurry offto battle with ruthless stenographers. Such are the horrors of war!"

He insisted on paying Marie Louise's driver, though she said, "Womenwill never be free so long as men insist on paying all their bills. "

Polly said: "Hush, or the brute will set me free!"

He kissed Polly, waved to Marie Louise, stepped into his car, and shotaway. 

Polly watched him with devout eyes and said:

"Poor boy! he's dying to get across into the trenches, but they won'ttake him because he's a little near-sighted, thank God! And he workslike a dog, day and night. " Then she returned to the rites ofhospitality. "Had your breakfast?"

"At the station. " The truth for once coincided very pleasantly withconvenience. 

"Then I know what you want, " said Polly, "a bath and a nap. After thatall-night train-trip you ought to be a wreck. "

"I am. "

Polly led her to a welcoming room that would have been quite prettyenough if it had had only a bed and a chair. Marie Louise felt as ifshe had come out of the wilderness into a city of refuge. Polly had anengagement, a committee meeting of women war-workers, and would not beback until luncheon-time. Marie Louise steeped herself in a hot tub, then in a long sweet sleep in a real bed. She was wakened by thevoices of children, and looked out from her window to see theWiddicombe tots drilling in a company of three with a drum, a flag, and a wooden gun. The American army was not much bigger compared withthe European nations in arms, but it would grow. 

Polly came home well charged with electricity, the new-woman idea thatwas claiming half of the war, the true squaw-spirit that takes up thedrudgery at home while the braves go out to swap missiles with theenemy. When Marie Louise said that she, too, had come to Washington toget into harness somewhere, Polly promised her a plethora ofopportunities. 

At luncheon Polly was reminded of the fact that a photographer wascoming over from Washington. He had asked for sittings, and she hadacceded to his request. 

"I never can get photographs enough of my homely self, " said Polly. "I'm always hoping that by some accident the next one will make melook as I want to look--make ithers see me as I see mysel'!"

When the camera-man arrived Polly insisted that Marie Louise mustpose, too, and grew so urgent that she consented at last, to quiether. They spent a harrowing afternoon striking attitudes all over theplace, indoors and out, standing, sitting, heads and half-lengths, profile and three-quarters and full face. Their muscles ached with thestruggle to assume and retain beatific expressions on an empty soul. 

The consequences of that afternoon of self-impersonation werefar-reaching for Marie Louise. 

According to the Washingtonian custom, one of the new photographsappeared the following Sunday in each of the four newspapers. TheSunday after that Marie Louise's likeness appeared with "DollyMadison's" and Jean Elliott's syndicated letters on "The Week inWashington" in Sunday supplements throughout the country. Every nowand then her likeness popped out at her from _Town and Country_, _Vogue_, _Harper's Bazaar_, _The Spur_, what not?

One of those countless images fell into the hands of Jake Nuddle, whohad been keeping an incongruous eye on the Sunday supplements for sometime. This time the double of Mamise was not posed as a farmerette inan English landscape, but as a woman of fashion in a Colonialdrawing-room. 

He hurried to his wife with the picture, and she called it "Mamise"with a recrudescent anguish of doubt. 

"She's in this country now, the paper says, " said Jake. "She's inWashington, and if I was you I'd write her a little letter astin' heris she our sister. "

Mrs. Nuddle was crying too loosely to note that "our. " The more Jakeconsidered the matter the less he liked the thought of waiting for aletter to go and an answer to come. 

"Meet 'em face to face; that's me!" he declared at last. "I think I'lljust take a trip to the little old capital m'self. I can tell the restthe c'mittee I'm goin' to put a few things up to some them Senatorsand Congersmen. That'll get my expenses paid for me. "

There simply was nobody that Jake Nuddle would not cheat, if hecould. 

His always depressing wife suggested: "Supposin' the lady says sheain't Mamise, how you goin' to prove she is? You never seen her. "

Jake snarled at her for a fool, but he knew that she was right. Heresisted the dismal necessity as long as he could, and then extendedone of his most cordial invitations:

"Aw, hell! I reckon I'll have to drag you along. "

He grumbled and cursed his fate and resolved to make Mamise pay doublefor ruining his excursion. 

CHAPTER V

For a time Marie Louise had the solace of being busy and of nibblingat the edge of great occasions. The nation was reconstituting itswhole life, and Washington was the capital of all the Allied peoples, their brazen serpent and their promise of salvation. Almost everybodywas doing with his or her might what his or her hand found to do. Repetition and contradiction of effort abounded; there was everyconfusion of counsel and of action. But the Republic was gatheringitself for a mighty leap into the arena. For the first time women werebeing not merely permitted, but pleaded with, to lend their aid. 

Marie Louise rolled bandages at a Red Cross room presided over by apleasant widow, Mrs. Perry Merithew, with a son in the aviation, whowas forever needing bandages. Mamise tired of these, bought a car andjoined the Women's Motor Corps. She had a collision with a recklesswretch named "Pet" Bettany, and resigned. She helped with bigfestivals, toiled day and night at sweaters, and finally boughtherself a knitting-machine and spun out half a dozen pairs of socks aday, by keeping a sweatshop pace for sweatshop hours. She was tryingto find a more useful job. The trouble was that everybody wanted to beat something, to get into a uniform of some sort, to join theuniversal mobilization. 

She went out little of evenings, preferring to keep herself inthe seclusion of the Rosslyn home. Gradually her fears subsidedand she felt that her welcome was wearing through. She began tolook for a place to live. Washington was in a panic of rentals. Apartments cost more than houses. A modest creature who had paidseventy-five dollars a month for a little flat let it for fivehundred a month for the duration of the war. A gorgeous Sultanawho had a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar-a-month apartment rented itfor a thousand dollars a month "for the duration. " Marie Louise hadmoney enough, but she could hardly find anything that it wouldbuy. 

She planned to secure a clerical post in some of the offices. She tookup shorthand and poked a typewriter and read books on system andefficiency, then gave them up as Greek. 

Once in a while she saw Ross Davidge. He suffered an intermittentfever of hope and despondency. He, too, was trying to do his bit, buthe was lost in the maelstrom swirling through the channels of officiallife. He would come to town for a few days, wait about, fuming, andreturn in disgust to his shipyard. It was not altogether patriotismthat pulled him back to Washington. Marie Louise was there, and helost several appointments with the great folk he came to see, becausetheir hours clashed with Marie Louise's. 

On one of his voyages he was surprised to find at his hotel aninvitation to dine at Mrs. Prothero's. Little as he knew of theeminent ones of the fashionable world, he knew the famous name ofProthero. He had spoken with reverence always of her late husband, oneof the rebuilders of the American navy, a voice crying in thewilderness for a revival of the ancient glories of the merchantmarine. Davidge had never met him or his widow. He felt that he couldnot refuse the unexplained opportunity to pay at least his respects tothe relict of his idol. 

But he wondered by what means Mrs. Prothero, whom everybody had heardof, had heard of him. When he entered her door on the designatedevening his riddle was answered. 

The butler glanced at his card, then picked from a heap on the consolea little envelope which he proffered on his tray. The envelope wasabout the size of those that new-born parents use to inclose theproclamation of the advent of a new-born infant. The card insideDavidge's envelope carried the legend, "Miss Webling. "

The butler led him to the drawing-room door and announced him. Thereindeed was Marie Louise, arm in arm with a majestic granddam in acoronet of white hair. 

Marie Louise put out her hand, and Davidge went to it. She clasped hisand passed it on to Mrs. Prothero with a character:

"This is the great Mr. Davidge, the shipwright. "

Mrs. Prothero pressed his hand and kept it while she said: "It islike Marie Louise to bring youth to cheer up an old crone like me. "

Davidge muffed the opening horribly. Instead of saying somethingbrilliant about how young Mrs. Prothero looked, he said:

"Youth? I'm a hundred years old. "

"You are!" Mrs. Prothero cried. "Then how old does that make me, inthe Lord's name--a million?"

Davidge could not even recover the foot he had put in it. By lookingfoolish and keeping silent he barely saved himself from adding theother foot. Mrs. Prothero smiled at his discomfiture. 

"Don't worry. I'm too ancient to be caught by pretty speeches--or tolike the men who have 'em always ready. "

She pressed his hand again and turned to welcome the financialCyclops, James Dyckman, and his huge wife, and Captain Fargeton, aforeign military attaché with service chevrons and wound-chevrons anda _croix de guerre_, and a wife, who had been Mildred Tait. 

"All that and an American spouse!" said Davidge to Marie Louise. 

"Have you never had an American spouse?" she asked, brazenly. 

"Not one!" he confessed. 

Major and Polly Widdicombe had come in with Marie Louise, and Davidgedrifted into their circle. The great room filled gradually with men ofpast or future fame, and the poor women who were concerned in enduringits acquisition. 

Marie Louise was radiant in mood and queenly in attire. Davidge wasstartled by the magnificence of her jewelry. Some of it was of oldworkmanship, royal heirloomry. Her accent was decidedly English, yether race was undoubtedly American. The many things about her that hadpuzzled him subconsciously began to clamor at least for the attentionof curiosity. He watched her making the best of herself, as a skilfulwoman does when she is all dressed up in handsome scenery amongtoplofty people. 

Polly was describing the guests as they came in:

"That's Colonel Harvey Forbes. His name has been sent to Congress forapproval as a brigadier-general. I knew him in the midst of thewildest scandal--remind me to tell you. He was only a captain then. He'll probably end as a king or something. This war is certainly goodto some people. "

Davidge watched Marie Louise studying the somber officer. He was a bitjealous, shamed by his own civilian clothes. Suddenly Marie Louise'ssmile at Polly's chatter stopped short, shriveled, then returned toher face with a look of effort. Her muscles seemed to be determinedthat her lips should not droop. 

Davidge heard the butler announce:

"Lady Clifton-Wyatt and General Sir Hector Havendish. "

Davidge wondered which of the two names could have so terrifiedMarie Louise. Naturally he supposed that it was the man's. He turnedto study the officer in his British uniform. He saw a tall, loose-jointed, jovial man of horsy look and carriage, and no hint ofmystery--one would say an intolerance of mystery. 

Lady Clifton-Wyatt was equally amiable. She laughed and wrung thehands of Mrs. Prothero. They were like two school-girls met in anothercentury. 

Davidge noted that Marie Louise turned her back and listened withextraordinary interest to Major Widdicombe's old story about anIrishman who did or said something or other. Davidge heard Mrs. Prothero say to Lady Clifton-Wyatt, with all the joy in the world:

"Who do you suppose is here but our Marie Louise?"

"Our Marie Louise?" Lady Clifton-Wyatt echoed, with a slight chill. 

"Yes, Marie Louise Webling. It was at her house that I met you. Wherehas the child got to? There she is. "

Without raising her voice she focused it between Marie Louise'sshoulder-blades. 

"Marie Louise, my dear!"

Marie Louise turned and came up like a wax image on casters pulledforward by an invisible window-dresser. Lady Clifton-Wyatt's limberattitude grew erect, deadly, ominously hostile. She looked as if shewould turn Marie Louise to stone with a Medusa glare, but sheevidently felt that she had no right to commit petrifaction in Mrs. Prothero's home; so she bowed and murmured:

"Ah, yis! How are you?"

To Davidge's amazement, Miss Webling, instead of meeting the rebuffin kind, wavered before it and bowed almost gratefully. Then, toDavidge's confusion, Lady Clifton-Wyatt marched on him with a gush ofcordiality as if she had been looking for him around the Seven Seas. She remembered him, called him by name and told him that she had seenhis pickchah in one of the papahs, as one of the creatahs of the newfleet. 

Mrs. Prothero was stunned for a moment by the scene, but she hadpassed through so many women's wars that she had learned toignore them even when--especially when--her drawing-room was thebattleground. 

Her mind was drawn from the incident by the materialization of thebutler. 

Lady Clifton-Wyatt, noting that the tide was setting toward thedining-room and that absent-minded Sir Hector was floating along thecurrent at the elbow of the pretty young girl, said to Davidge:

"Are you taking me out or--"

It was a horrible moment, for all its unimportance, but he mumbled:

"I--I am sorry, but--er--Miss Webling--"

"Oh! Ah!" said Lady Clifton-Wyatt. It was a very short "Oh!" and avery long "Ah!" a sort of gliding, crushing "Ah!" It went over himlike a tank, leaving him flat. 

Lady Clifton-Wyatt reached Sir Hector's arm in a few strides andunhooked him from the girl--also the girl from him. The girl wasgrateful. Sir Hector was used to disappointments. 

Davidge went to Marie Louise, who stood lonely and distraught. He feltashamed of his word "sorry" and hoped she hadn't heard it. Silentlyand crudely he angled his arm, and she took it and went along with himin a somnambulism. 

Davidge, manlike, tried to cheer up his elbow-mate by a compliment. Aman's first aid to a woman in distress is a compliment or a few patsof the hand. He said:

"This is the second big dinner you and I have attended. There werebushels of flowers between us before, but I'd rather see your facethan a ton of roses. "

The compliment fell out like a ton of coal. He did not like it at all. She seemed not to have heard him, for she murmured:

"Yis, isn't it?"

Then, as the occultists say, he went into the silence. There isnothing busier than a silence at a dinner. The effort to think with nooutlet in speech kept up such a roaring in his head that he couldhardly grasp what the rest were saying. 

Lady Clifton-Wyatt sat at Davidge's right and kept invading his quietcommunion with Marie Louise by making remarks of the utmostgraciousness somehow fermented--like wine turned vinegar. 

"I wonder if you remember when we met in London, Mr. Davidge? It wasjust after the poor _Lusitania_ was sunk. "

"So it was, " said Davidge. 

"It was at Sir Joseph Webling's. You knew he was dead, didn't you? Ordid you?"

"Yes, Miss Webling told me. "

"Oh, did she! I was curious to know. "

She cast a look past him at Marie Louise and saw that the girl wasabout ready to make a scene. She smiled and deferred further torture. 

Mrs. Prothero supervened. She had the beautiful theory that the way tomake her guests happy was to get them to talking about themselves. Shetried to draw Davidge out of his shell. But he talked about herhusband instead, and of the great work he had done for the navy. Heturned the tables of graciousness on her. Her nod recognized thechivalry; her lips smiled with pride in her husband's praise; her eyesglistened with an old regret made new. "He would have been usefulnow, " she sighed. 

"He was the man who laid the keel-blocks of our new navy, " saidDavidge. "The thing we haven't got and have got to get is a merchantmarine. "

He could talk of that, though he could not celebrate himself. He wasstill going strong when the dinner was finished. 

Mrs. Prothero clung to the old custom. She took the women away withher to the drawing-room, leaving the men alone. 

Davidge noted that Lady Clifton-Wyatt left the dining-room with a kindof eagerness, Marie Louise reluctantly. She cast him a look thatseemed to cry "Help!" He wondered what the feud could be that threwMiss Webling into such apparent panic. He could not tolerate thethought that she had a yellow streak in her. 

CHAPTER VI

Lady Clifton-Wyatt, like many another woman, was kept in order by thepresence of men. She knew that the least charming of attributes inmasculine eyes are the female feline, the gift and art of claws. 

Men can be catty, too--tom-catty, yet contemptibly feline when theyare not on their good behavior. There are times when the warning, "Gentlemen, there are ladies present, " restores them to order asquickly as the entrance of a teacher turns a school-room of youngsavages into an assembly of young saints. 

The women in Mrs. Prothero's drawing-room could not hear any of thewords the men mixed with their smoke, but they could hear now and thena muffled explosion of laughter of a quality that indicated what hadprovoked it. 

The women, too, were relieved of a certain constraint by theirisolation. They seemed to enjoy the release. It was like getting theirminds out of tight corsets. They were not impatient for the men--assome of the men may have imagined. These women were of an age wherethey had something else to think of besides men. They had careers tomake or keep among women as well as the men among men. 

The servants kept them on guard till the coffee, tobacco, and liqueurswere distributed. Then recess was declared. Marie Louise found herselfon a huge tapestried divan provided with deep, soft cushions that heldher like a quicksands. On one side of her was the mountainous Mrs. Dyckman resembling a stack of cushions cased in silk; on the other wasMildred Tait Fargeton, whose father had been ambassador to France. 

Marie Louise listened to their chatter with a frantic impatience. Polly was heliographing ironic messages with her eyes. Polly washemmed in by the wife of a railroad juggler, who was furious at theAdministration because it did not put all its transportation problemsin her husband's hands. She would not have intrusted him with thebuying of a spool of thread; but that was different. 

Mrs. Prothero was monopolized by Lady Clifton-Wyatt. Marie Louisecould see that she herself was the theme of the talk, for Mrs. Prothero kept casting startled glances Marie-Louise-ward, and LadyClifton-Wyatt glances of baleful stealth. 

Marie Louise had proved often enough that she was no coward, buteven the brave turn poltroon when they fight without a sense ofjustification. Her pride told her that she ought to cross over to LadyClifton-Wyatt and demand that she speak up. But her sense of guiltrobbed her of her courage. And that oath she had given to Mr. Verrinder without the least reluctance now loomed before her as thegreatest mistake of her life. Her sword and shield were both in pawn. 

She gave herself up for lost and had only one hope, that the men wouldnot come in--especially that Ross Davidge would not come in in time tolearn what Lady Clifton-Wyatt was so eager to publish. She gave Mrs. Prothero up for lost, too, and Polly. But she wanted to keep RossDavidge fond of her. 

Then in a lull Mrs. Prothero spoke up sharply:

"I simply can't believe it, my dear. I don't know that I ever saw aGerman spy, but that child is not one. I'd stake my life on it. "

"And now the avalanche!" thought Marie Louise. 

The word "spy" was beginning to have more than an academic orfictional interest to Americans, and it caught the ear of every personpresent. 

Mrs. Dyckman and Mme. Fargeton sat up as straight as their curvespermitted and gasped:

"A German spy! Who? Where?"

Polly Widdicombe sprang to her feet and darted to Mrs. Prothero'sside. 

"Oh, how lovely! Tell me who she is! I'm dying to shoot a spy. "

Marie Louise sickened at the bloodthirstiness of Polly the insouciante. 

Mrs. Prothero tried to put down the riot of interest by saying:

"Oh, it's nothing. Lady Clifton-Wyatt is just joking. "

Lady Clifton-Wyatt was at bay. She shot a glance at Marie Louise andinsisted:

"Indeed I'm not! I tell you she is a spy. "

"Who's a spy?" Polly demanded. 

"Miss Webling, " said Lady Clifton-Wyatt. 

Polly began to giggle; then she frowned with disappointment. 

"Oh, I thought you meant it. "

"I do mean it, and if you'll take my advice you'll be warned intime. "

Polly turned, expecting to find Marie Louise showing her contemptuousamusement, but the look she saw on Marie Louise's face was disconcerting. Polly's loyalty remained staunch. She hated Lady Clifton-Wyatt anyway, and the thought that she might be telling the truth made her a littlemore hatable. Polly stormed:

"I won't permit you to slander my best friend. "

Lady Clifton-Wyatt replied, "I don't slahnda hah, and if she is yawbest friend--well--"

Lady Clifton-Wyatt hated Polly and was glad of the weapon against her. Polly felt a sudden terrific need of retorting with a blow. Men hadnever given up the fist on the mouth as the simple, direct answer toan insult too complicated for any other retort. She wanted to slapLady Clifton-Wyatt's face. But she did not know how to fight. Perhapswomen will acquire the male prerogative of the smash in the jaw alongwith the other once exclusive masculine privileges. It will do them noend of good and help to clarify all life for them. But for the presentPolly could only groan, "Agh!" and turn to throw an arm about MarieLouise and drag her forward. 

"I'd believe one word of Marie Louise against a thousand of yours, "she declared. 

"Very well--ahsk hah, then. "

Polly was crying mad, and madder than ever because she hated herselffor crying when she got mad. She almost sobbed now to Marie Louise, "Tell her it's a dirty, rotten lie. "

Marie Louise had been dragged to her feet. She temporized, "What hasshe sai-said?"

Polly snickered nervously, "Oh, nothing--except that you were a Germanspy. "

And now somewhere, somehow, Marie Louise found the courage ofdesperation. She laughed:

"Lady Clifton-Wyatt is notori--famous for her quaint sense of humor. "

Lady Clifton-Wyatt sneered, "Could one expect a spy to admit it?"

Marie Louise smiled patiently. "Probably not. But surely even youwould hardly insist that denying it proves it?"

This sophistry was too tangled for Polly. She spoke up:

"Let's have the details, Lady Clifton-Wyatt--if you don't mind. "

"Yes, yes, " the chorus murmured. 

Lady Clifton-Wyatt braced herself. "Well, in the first place MissWebling is not Miss Webling. "

"Oh, but I am, " said Marie Louise. 

Lady Clifton-Wyatt gasped, "You don't mean to pretend that--"

"Did you read the will?" said Marie Louise. 

"No, of course not, but--"

"It says there that I was their daughter. "

"Well, we'll not quibble. Legally you may have been, but actually youwere their adopted child. "

"Yis?" said Marie Louise. "And where did they find me? Had youheard?"

"Since you force me to it, I must say that it is generally believedthat you were the natural daughter of Sir Joseph. "

Marie Louise was tremendously relieved by having something that shecould deny. She laughed with a genuineness that swung the credulityall her way. She asked:

"And who was my mother--my natural mother, could you tell me? I reallyought to know. "

"She is believed to have been a--a native of Australia. "

"Good Heavens! You don't mean a kangaroo?"

"An actress playing in Vienna. "

"Oh, I am relieved! And Sir Joseph was my father--yes. Do go on. "

"Whether Sir Joseph was your father or not, he was born in Germany andso was his wife, and they took a false oath of allegiance to hisMajesty. All the while they were loyal only to the Kaiser. They workedfor him, spied for him. It is said that the Kaiser had promised tomake Sir Joseph one of the rulers over England when he captured theisland. Sir Joseph was to have any castle he wanted and untoldwealth. "

"What was I to have?" Marie Louise was able to mock her. "Wasn't I tohave at least Westminster Abbey to live in? And one of the crownprinces for a husband?"

Lady Clifton-Wyatt lost her temper and her bearings. 

"Heaven knows what you were promised, but you did your best to earnit, whatever it was. "

Mrs. Prothero lost patience. "Really, my dear Lady Clifton-Wyatt, thisis all getting beyond me. "

Lady Clifton-Wyatt grew scarlet, too. She spoke with the wrath of aTisiphone whipping herself to a frenzy. "I will bring you proofs. Thiscreature was a paid secret agent, a go-between for Sir Joseph and theWilhelmstrasse. She carried messages. She went into the slums ofWhitechapel disguised as a beggar to meet the conspirators. Shecarried them lists of ships with their cargoes, dates of sailing, destinations. She carried great sums of money. She was the paymasterof the spies. Her hands are red with the blood of British sailors andwomen and children. She grew so bold that at last she attracted theattention of even Scotland Yard. She was followed, traced to SirJoseph's home. It was found that she lived at his house. 

"One of the spies, named Easling or Oesten, was her lover. He wascaught and met his deserts before a firing-squad in the Tower. Hisconfession implicated Sir Joseph. The police raided his place. Aterrific fight ensued. He resisted arrest. He tried to shoot one ofour police. The bullet went wild and killed his wife. Before he couldfire again he was shot down by one of our men. "

The astonishing transformations the story had undergone in its transitfrom gossip to gossip stunned Marie Louise. The memory of the realitysaddened her beyond laughter. Her distress was real, but she hadself-control enough to focus it on Lady Clifton-Wyatt and murmur:

"Poor thing, she is quite mad!"

There is nothing that so nearly drives one insane as to be accused ofinsanity. 

The prosecutrix almost strangled on her indignation at Marie Louise'scalm. 

"The effrontery of this woman is unendurable, Mrs. Prothero. If youbelieve her, you must permit me to leave. I know what I am saying. Ihave had what I tell you from the best authority. Of course, it maysound insane, but wait until you learn what the German secret agentshave been doing in America for years and what they are doing now. "

There had been publication enough of the sickening duplicity ofambassadors and attachés to lead the Americans to believe thatTeutonism meant anything revolting. Mrs. Prothero was befuddled atthis explosion in her quiet home. She asked:

"But surely all this has never been published, has it? I think weshould have heard of it here. "

"Of course not, " said Lady Clifton-Wyatt. "We don't publish theaccounts of the submarines we sink, do we? No more do we tell theGermans what spies of theirs we have captured. And, since Sir Josephand his wife were dead, there would have been no profit in publishingbroadcast the story of the battle. So they agreed to let it be knownthat they died peacefully or rather painfully in their beds, ofptomaine poisoning. "

"That's true, " said Mrs. Prothero. "That's what I read. That's whatI've always understood. "

Now, curiously, as often happens in court, the discovery that awitness has stumbled on one truth in a pack of lies renders all he hassaid authentic and shifts the guilt to the other side. Marie Louisecould feel the frost of suspicion against her forming in the air. 

Polly made one more onset: "But, tell me, Lady Clifton-Wyatt, wherewas Marie Louise during all this Wild West End pistol-play?"

"In her room with her lover, " snarled Lady Clifton-Wyatt. "Theservants saw her there. "

This threw a more odious light on Marie Louise. She was not merely anice clean spy, but a wanton. 

Polly groaned: "Tell that to Scotland Yard! I'd never believe it. "

"Scotland Yard knows it without my telling, " said Lady Clifton-Wyatt. 

"But how did Marie Louise come to escape and get to America?"

"Because England did not want to shoot a woman, especially not ayoung woman of a certain prettiness. So they let her go, when sheswore that she would never return to England. But they did not trusther. She is under observation now! Your home is watched, my dear Mrs. Widdicombe, and I dare say there is a man on guard outside now, mydear Mrs. Prothero. "

This sent a chill along every spine. Marie Louise was frightened outof her own brief bravado. 

There was a lull in the trial while everybody reveled in horror. ThenMrs. Prothero spoke in a judicial tone. 

"And now, Miss Webling, please tell us your side of all this. Whathave you to say in your own behalf?"

Marie Louise's mouth suddenly turned dry as bark; her tongue was likea dead leaf. She was inarticulate with remembrance of her oath toVerrinder. She just managed to whisper:

"Nothing!"

It sounded like an autumn leaf rasping across a stone. Polly cried outin agony:

"Marie Louise!"

Marie Louise shook her head and could neither think nor speak. Therewas a hush of waiting. It was broken by the voices of the menstrolling in together. They were utterly unwelcome. They stopped andstared at the women all staring at Marie Louise. 

Seeing Davidge about to ask what the tableau stood for, she foundvoice to say:

"Mr. Davidge, would you be so good as to take me home--to Mrs. Widdicombe's, that is. I--I am a little faint. "

"Delighted! I mean--I'm sorry--I'd be glad, " he stammered, eager to beat her service, yet embarrassed by the sudden appeal. 

"You'll pardon me, Mrs. Prothero, for running away!"

"Of course, " said Mrs. Prothero, still dazed. 

He bowed to her, and all round. Marie Louise nodded and whispered, "Good night!" and moved toward the door waveringly. Davidge's heartleaped with pity for her. 

Lady Clifton-Wyatt checked him as he hurried past her. 

"Oh, Mr. Davidge, I'm stopping at the Shoreham. Won't you drop in andhave a cup of tea with me to-morrow at hahf pahst fah?"

"Thank you! Yes!"

CHAPTER VII

The intended victim of Lady Clifton-Wyatt's little lynching-bee walkedaway, holding her head high. But she felt the noose still about herneck and wondered when the rope would draw her back and up. 

Marie Louise marched through Mrs. Prothero's hall in excellent form, with just the right amount of dizziness to justify her escape on theplea of sudden illness. The butler, like a benign destiny, opened thedoor silently and let her out into the open as once before in London abutler had opened a door and let her into the welcome refuge ofwalls. 

She gulped the cool night air thirstily, and it gave her courage. But it gave her no wisdom. She had indeed got away from LadyClifton-Wyatt's direct accusation of being a spy and she had broughtwith her unscathed the only man whose good opinion was important toher. But she did not know what she wanted to do with him, except thatshe did not want him to fall into Lady Clifton-Wyatt's hands--inwhich she had left her reputation. 

Polly Widdicombe would have gone after Marie Louise forthwith, butPolly did not intend to leave her pet foewoman in possession of thefield--not that she loved Marie Louise more, but that she loved LadyClifton-Wyatt less. Polly was dazed and bewildered by Marie Louise'sdefection, but she would not accept Lady Clifton-Wyatt's version ofthis story or of any other. 

Besides, Polly gleaned that Marie Louise wanted to be alone, and sheknew that the best gift friendship can bestow at times is solitude. The next best gift is defense in absence. Polly announced that shewould not permit her friend to be traduced; and Lady Clifton-Wyatt, seeing that the men had flocked in from the dining-room and knowingthat men always discount one woman's attack on another as merecattiness, assumed her most angelic mien and changed the subject. 

 * * * * *

As usual in retreats, the first problem was transportation. MarieLouise found herself and Davidge outside Mrs. Prothero's door, with nomeans of getting to Rosslyn. She had come in the Widdicombe car;Davidge had come in a hotel cab and sent it away. Luckily at last ataxi returning to the railroad terminal whizzed by. Davidge yelled invain. Then he put his two fingers to his mouth and let out a shortblast that brought the taxi-driver round. In accordance with thetraffic rules, he had to make the circuit of the big statue-crownedcircle in front of Mrs. Prothero's home, one of those numerous hubsthat give Washington the effect of what some one called "revolvingstreets. "

When he drew up at the curb Davidge's first question was:

"How's your gasolene supply?"

"Full up, boss. "

Marie Louise laughed. "You don't want to spend another night in a taxiwith me, I see. "

Davidge writhed at this deduction. He started to say, "I'd be glad tospend the rest of my life in a taxi with you. " That sounded a littletoo flamboyant, especially with a driver listening in. So he saidnothing but "Huh!"

He explained to the driver the route to Grinden Hall, and they setforth. 

Marie Louise had a dilemma of her own. Lady Clifton-Wyatt had had thelast word, and it had been an invitation to Davidge to call on her. Worse yet, he had accepted it. Lady Clifton-Wyatt's purpose was, ofcourse, to rob Marie Louise of this last friend. Perhaps the wretchhad a sentimental interest in Davidge, too. She was a widow and aman-grabber; she still had a tyrannic beauty and a greed of conquest. Marie Louise was determined that Davidge should not fall into herclutches, but she could hardly exact a promise from him to stay away. 

The taxi was crossing the aqueduct bridge before she could bravethe point. She was brazen enough to say, "You'll accept LadyClifton-Wyatt's invitation to tea, of course?"

"Oh, I suppose so, " said Davidge. "No American woman can resist alord; so how could an American man resist a Lady?"

"Oh!"

This helpless syllable expressed another defeat for Marie Louise. Whenthey reached the house she bade him good night without making anyarrangement for a good morrow, though Davidge held her hand decidedlylonger than ever before. 

She stood on the portico and watched his cab drive off. She gazedtoward Washington and did not see the dreamy constellation it madewith the shaft of the Monument ghostly luminous as if with aphosphorescence of its own. She felt an outcast indeed. She imaginedPolly hurrying back to ask questions that could not be dodged anylonger. She had no right to defend herself offensively from therightful demands of a friend and hostess. Besides, the laws ofhospitality would not protect her from Polly's temper. Polly wouldhave a perfect right to order her from the house. And she would, too, when she knew everything. It would be best to decamp before beingasked to. 

Marie Louise whirled and sped into the house, rang for the maid, andsaid:

"My trunks! Please have them brought down--or up, from wherever theyare, will you?"

"Your trunks, miss!"

"And a taxicab. I shall have to leave at once. "

"But--oh, I am sorry. Shall I help you pack?"

"Thank you, no--yes--no!"

The maid went out with eyes popping, wondering what earthquake hadsent the guest home alone for such a headlong exit. 

Things flew in the drowsy house, and Marie Louise's chamber lookedlike the show-room of a commercial traveler for a linen-house whenPolly appeared at the door and gasped:

"What in the name of--I didn't know you were sick enough to bedelirious!"

She came forward through an archipelago of clothes to where MarieLouise was bending over a trunk. Polly took an armload of things awayfrom her and put them back in the highboy. As she set her arms akimboand stood staring at Marie Louise with a lovable and loving insolence, she heard the sound of a car rattling round the driveway, and herfirst words were:

"Who's coming here at this hour?"

"That's the taxi for me, " Marie Louise explained. 

Polly turned to the maid, "Go down and send it away--no, tell thedriver to go to the asylum for a strait-jacket. "

The maid smiled and left. Marie Louise was afraid to believe her ownhopes. 

"You don't mean you want me to stay, do you--not after what that womansaid?"

"Do you imagine for a moment, " returned Polly, "that I'd ever believea word that cat could utter? Good Lord! if Lady Clifton-Wyatt told meit was raining and I could see it was, I'd know it wasn't and put downmy umbrella. "

Marie Louise rejoiced at the trust implied, but she could not make afool of so loyal a friend. She spoke with difficulty:

"What if what she said was the truth, or, anyway, a kind of burlesqueof it?"

"Marie Louise!" Polly gasped, and plounced into a chair. "Tell me thetruth this minute, the true truth. "

Marie Louise was perishing for a confidante. She had gone about as farwithout one as a normal woman can. She sat wondering how to begin, twirling her rings on her fingers. "Well, you see--you see--it is truethat I'm not Sir Joseph's daughter. I was born in a little village--inAmerica--Wakefield--out there in the Middle West. I ran away fromhome, and--"

She hesitated, blanched, blushed, skipped over the years she tried notto think of and managed never to speak of. She came down to:

"Well, anyway, at last I was in Berlin--on the stage--"

"You were an actress?" Polly gasped. 

Marie Louise confessed, "Well, I'd hardly say that. "

She told Polly what she had told Mr. Verrinder of the appearance ofSir Joseph and Lady Webling, of their thrill at her resemblance totheir dead daughter, of their plea that she leave the stage and entertheir family, of her new life, and the outbreak of the war. 

Major Widdicombe pounded on the door and said: "Are you girls going totalk all night? I've got to get up at seven and save the country. "

Polly cried to him, "Go away, " and to Marie Louise, "Go on. "

Marie Louise began again, but just as she reached the first suspicionsof Sir Joseph's loyalty she remembered the oath she had plighted toVerrinder and stopped short. 

"I forgot! I can't!"

Polly groaned: "Oh, my God! You're not going to stop there! I loatheserials. "

Marie Louise shook her head. "If only I could tell you; but I justcan't! That's all; I can't!"

Polly turned her eyes up in despair. "Well, I might as well go to bed, I suppose. But I sha'n't sleep a wink. Tell me one thing, though. Youweren't really a German spy, were you?"

"No, no! Of course not! I loathe everything German. "

"Well, let the rest rest, then. So long as Lady Clifton-Wyatt is aliar I can stand the strain. If you had been a spy, I suppose I'd haveto shoot you or something; but so long as you're not, you don't budgeout of this house. Is that understood?"

Marie Louise nodded with a pathetic gratitude, and Polly stamped akiss on her brow like a notarial seal. 

CHAPTER VIII

The next morning's paper announced that spring had officially arrivedand been recognized at the Capitol--a certain Senator had taken offhis wig. Washington accepted this as the sure sign that the weatherwas warm. It would not be officially autumn till that wig fell backinto place. 

There were less formal indications: for instance, the annualflower-duel between the two terraces on Massachusetts Avenue. Thefamous Embassy Terrace forsythias began it, and flaunted littlefringes of yellow glory. The slopes of the Louise Home replied bysetting their magnolia-trees on fire with flowers like lamps, flowersthat hurried out ahead of their own leaves and then broke and coveredthe ground with great petals of shattered porcelain. The EmbassyTerrace put out lamps of its own closer to the ground, but moregorgeous--irises in a row of blue, blue footlights. 

The Louise Home, where gentlewomen of better days, ambassadresses ofan earlier régime, kept their state, had the last word, the word thatcould not be bettered, for it uttered wistaria, wistful lavenderclusters weeping from the trellises in languorous grace. 

Marie Louise, looking from her open window in Rosslyn, felt in thewind a sense of stroking fingers. The trees were brisk with hope. Theriver went its way in a more sparkling flow. The air blew from thevery fountains of youth with a teasing blarney. She thought of RossDavidge and smiled tenderly to remember his amiable earnestness. Butshe frowned to remember his engagement with Lady Clifton-Wyatt. Shewondered what excuse she could invent to checkmate that woman. 

Suddenly inspiration came to her. She remembered that she hadforgotten to pay Davidge for the seat he surrendered her in thechair-car. She telephoned him at his hotel. He was out. She pursuedhim by wire travel till she found him in an office of the ShippingBoard. He talked on the corner of a busy man's desk. She heard thebusy man say with a taunting voice, "A lady for you, Davidge. "

She could hear the embarrassment in his voice. She was in for it now, and she felt silly when she explained why she bothered him. But shewas stubborn, too. When he understood, he laughed with the constraintof a man bandying enforced gallantries on another man's telephone. 

"I'd hate to be as honest as all that. "

"It's not honesty, " she persisted. "It's selfishness. I can't restwhile the debt is on my mind. "

He was perplexed. "I've got to see several men on the Shipping Board. There's a big fight on between the wooden-ship fellows and thesteel-ship men, and I'm betwixt and between 'em. I won't have time torun out to see you. "

"I shouldn't dream of asking you. I was coming in to town, anyway. "

"Oh! Well, then--well--er--when can I meet you?"

"Whenever you say! The Willard at--When shall you be free?"

"Not before four and then only for half an hour. "

"Four it is. "

"Fine! Thank you ever so much. I'll buy me a lot of steel with allthat money you owe me. "

Marie Louise put up the receiver. People have got so used to thetelephone that they can see by it. Marie Louise could visualizeDavidge angry with embarrassment, confronting the important man whoseoffice he had desecrated with this silly hammockese. She felt that shehad made herself a nuisance and lost a trick. She had taken a deucewith her highest trump and had not captured the king. 

Furthermore, to keep Davidge from meeting Lady Clifton-Wyatt would beonly to-day's battle. There would still be to-morrows and theday-afters. Lady Clifton-Wyatt had declared herself openly hostile toMarie Louise, and would get her sooner or later. Flight fromWashington would be the only safety. 

But Marie Louise did not want to leave Washington. She lovedWashington and the opportunities it offered a woman to do importantwork in the cosmopolitan whirl of its populace. But she could not liveon at Polly Widdicombe's forever. 

Marie Louise decided that her hour had struck. She must find a nook ofher own. And she would have to live in it all by herself. Who wasthere to live with? She felt horribly deserted in life. She had lookedat numerous houses and apartments from time to time. Apartments werecostlier and fewer than houses. Since she was doomed to live alone, anyway, she might as well have a house. Her neighbors would moreeasily be kept aloof. 

She sought a real-estate agent, Mr. Hailstorks, of the sort known asaffable. But the dwellings he had to show were not even that. Placesshe had found not altogether odious before were rented now. Placesthat her heart went out to to-day proved to have been rentedyesterday. 

Finally she ran across a residence of a sort. She sighed to Mr. Hailstorks:

"Well, a carpenter made it--so let it pass for a house. I'll take itif it has a floor. I'm like Gelett Burgess: 'I don't so much care fora door, but this crawling around without touching the ground isgetting to be quite a bore. '"

"Yes, ma'am, " said Mr. Hailstorks, bewilderedly. 

He unlocked the door of somebody's tenantless ex-home with its lonelyfurniture, and Marie Louise intruded, as one does, on the chairs, rugs, pictures, and vases that other people have been born with, haveachieved, or have had thrust upon them. She wondered, as one does, what sort of beings they could have been that had selected such thingsto live among, and what excuse they had had for them. 

Mr. Hailstorks had a surprise in store for her. He led her to the rearof the house and raised a shade. Instead of the expectable back yard, Marie Louise was startled to see a noble landscape leap into view. Thehouse loomed over a precipitous descent into a great valley. A streamran far below, and then the cliffs rose again opposite in a successionof uplifting terraces that reminded her somehow of Richmond Hillsuperbly built up above the silver Thames. 

"Whatever is all that?" she cried. 

"Rock Creek Park, ma'am, " said Mr. Hailstorks, who had a sincerereal-estately affection for parks, since they raised the price ofadjoining property and made renting easier. 

"And what's the price of all this grandeur?"

"Only three hundred a month, " said Mr. Hailstorks. 

"Only!" gasped Marie Louise. 

"It will be four hundred in a week or two--yes ma'am, " said Mr. Hailstorks. 

So Marie Louise seized it before its price rose any farther. 

She took a last look at Rock Creek Park, henceforth her privategame-preserve. As she stared, an idea came to her. She needed one. Thepark, it occurred to her, was an excellent wilderness to get lostin--with Ross Davidge. 

 * * * * *

She was late to her meeting with Davidge--not unintentionally. He waswaiting on the steps of the hotel, smoking, when she drove up in thecar she had bought for her Motor Corps work. 

He said what she hoped he would say:

"I didn't know you drove so well. "

She quoted a popular phrase: "'You don't know the half of it, dearie. 'Hop in, and I'll show you. "

He thought of Lady Clifton-Wyatt, and Marie Louise knew he thought ofher. But he was not hero or coward enough to tell a woman that he hadan engagement with another woman. She pretended to have forgotten thathe had told her, though she could think of little else. She whiskedround the corner of I Street, or Eye Street, and thence up SixteenthStreet, fast and far. 

She was amazed at her own audacity, and Davidge could not make herout. She had a scared look that puzzled him. She was really thinkingthat she was the most unconscionable kidnapper that ever ran off withsome other body's child. He could hardly dun her for the money, andshe had apparently forgotten it again. 

They were well to the north when she said:

"Do you know Rock Creek Park?"

"No, I've never been in it. "

"Would you like a glimpse? I think it's the prettiest park in theworld. "

She looked at her watch with that twist of the wrist now becomingalmost universal and gasped:

"Oh, dear! I must turn back. But it's just about as short to gothrough the park. I mustn't make you late to Lady Clifton-Wyatt'stea. "

He could find absolutely nothing to say to that except, "It's mightypretty along here. " She turned into Blagdon Road and coasted down thelong, many-turning dark glade. At the end she failed to steer to thesouth. The creek itself crossed the road. She drove the car straightthrough its lilting waters. There was exhilaration in the splashingcharge across the ford. Then the road wound along the bank, curlingand writhing with it gracefully through thick forests, over bridgesand once more right through the bright flood. The creek scramblingamong its piled-up boulders was too gay to suggest any amorous mood, and Marie Louise did not quite dare to drive the car down to thewater's edge at any of the little green plateaus where picnics werebeing celebrated on the grass. 

"I always lose my way in this park, " she said. "I expect I'm lostnow. "

She began to regret Davidge's approaching absence, with a strangeloneliness. He was becoming tenderly necessary to her. She sighed, hardly meaning to speak aloud, "Too bad you're going away so soon. "

He was startled to find that his departure meant something to her. Hespoke with an affectionate reassurance. 

She stopped the car on a lofty plateau where several ladies andgentlemen were exercising their horses at hurdle-jumping. The élan ofrush, plunge and recovery could not excite Mamise now. 

"I'll tell you what we'll do. The next time I come to Washington youdrive me over to my shipyard and I'll show you the new boat and thenew yard for the rest of the flock. "

"That would be glorious. I should like to know something aboutships. "

"I can teach you all I know in a little while. "

"You know all there is to know, don't you?"

"Lord help us, I should say not! I knew a little about the oldmethods, but they're all done away with. The fabricated ship is anabsolute novelty. The old lines are gone, and the old methods. Whatfew ship-builders we had are trying to forget what they know. Everybody is green. We had to find out for ourselves and pass it alongto the foremen, and they hand it out to the laborers. 

"The whole art is in a confusion. There is going to be a ghastly lotof mistakes and waste and scandal, but if we win out there'll be sucha cloudburst that the Germans will think it's raining ships. NiagaraFalls will be nothing to the cascade of iron hulls going overboard. Von Tirpitz with his ruthless policy will be like the old woman whotried to sweep the tide back with a broom. "

He grew so fervent in his vision of the new creation that he hardlysaw the riders as they stormed the hurdles. Marie Louise took firefrom his glow and forgot the petty motive that had impelled her tobring him to this place. Suddenly he realized how shamelessly eloquenthe had been, and subsided with a slump. 

"What a bore I am to tell all this to a woman!"

She rose at that. "The day has passed when a man can apologize fortalking business to a woman. I've been in England for years, you know, and the women over there are doing all the men's work and gettingbetter wages at it than the men ever did. After the war they'll nevergo back to their tatting and prattle. I'm going to your shipyard andhave a look-in, but not the way a pink debutante follows a navalofficer over a battle-ship, staring at him and not at the works. I'mgoing on business, and if I like ship-building, I may take it up. "

"Great!" he laughed, and slapped her hand where it lay on the wheel. He apologized again for his roughness. 

"I'll forgive anything except an apology, " she said. 

As she looked proudly down at the hand he had honored with a blow aswith an accolade she saw by her watch that it was after six. 

"Great Heavens! it's six and more!" she cried. "Lady Clifton-Wyattwill never forgive you--or me. I'll take you to her at once. "

"Never mind Lady Clifton-Wyatt, " he said. "But I've got anotherengagement for dinner--with a man, at half past six. I wish Ihadn't. "

They were drifting with the twilight into an elegiac mood, sufferingthe sweet sorrow of parting. 

The gloaming steeped the dense woods, and the romance of sunset andgathering night saddened the business man's soul, but wakened a newand unsuspected woman in Marie Louise. 

Her fierce imaginations were suddenly concerned with conquests ofambition, not of love. So fresh a realm was opened to her that she washerself renewed and restored to that boyish-girlish estate of youngwomanhood before love has educated it to desire and the slaveries ofdesire. The Aphrodite that lurks in every woman had been put to flightby the Diana that is also there. 

Davidge on the other hand had warmed toward Marie Louise suddenly, ashe saw how ardent she could be. He had known her till now only in herdejected and terrified, distracted humors. Now he saw her on fire, andlove began to blaze within him. 

He felt his first impulse to throw an arm about her and draw her tohis breast, but though the solitude was complete and the opportunityperfect, he saw that she was in no spirit for dalliance. There is nocolder chaperon for a woman than a new ambition to accomplishsomething worth while. 

As they drew up at the New Willard she was saying:

"Telephone the minute you come to town again. Good-by. I'm late todinner. "

She meant that she was late to life, late to a career. 

Davidge stared at her in wonderment as she bent to throw the leverinto first speed. She roughed it in her impatience, and the growl ofthe gear drowned the sound of another man's voice calling her name. This man ran toward her, but she did not notice him and got awaybefore he could overtake her. 

Davidge was jostled by him as he ran, and noted that he called MissWebling "Mees Vapelink. " The Teutonic intonation did not fallpleasantly on the American ear at that time. Washington was aforbidden city to Germanic men and soon would banish the enemy women, too. 

The stranger took refuge on the sidewalk, and his curses were snarlywith the Teutonic _r_. Davidge studied him and began to remember him. He had seen him with Marie Louise somewhere. Suddenly his mind, ransacking the filing-cabinet of his memory, turned up a picture ofNicky Easton at the side of Marie Louise at the dinner in Sir Joseph'shome. He could not remember the name, but a man has a ready label foranybody he hates. 

He began to worry now. Who was this spick foreigner who ran hootingafter her? It was not like Davidge to be either curious or suspicious. But love was beginning its usual hocus-pocus with character andturning a tired business man into a restless swain. 

Davidge resented Easton's claim on Marie Louise, whatever it was, asan invasion of some imagined property right of his own, or at least ofsome option he had secured somehow. He was alarmed at the Teutonicaccent of the interloper. He began to take heed of how little he knewof Marie Louise, after all. He recalled Sir Joseph Webling's Germanaccent. An icy fear chilled him. 

His important business parley was conducted with an absent-mindednessthat puzzled his host, the eminent iron-master, Jacob Cruit, who hadexchanged an income of a million a year and dictatorial powers for agovernmental wage of one dollar per annum, no authority, no gratitude, and endless trouble. 

Davidge's head was buzzing with thoughts in which Cruit had no part:

"Can she be one of those horrible women who have many lovers? Is she awoman of affairs? What is all this mystery about her? What was she soafraid of the night she would not stop at Mrs. Widdicombe's? Why wasshe so upset by the appearance of Lady Clifton-Wyatt? Why was she insuch a hurry to get me away from Mrs. Prothero's dinner, and to keepme from keeping my engagement with Lady Clifton-Wyatt? Why so muchGerman association?"

He thought of dozens of explanations, most of them wild, but none ofthem so wild as the truth--that Marie Louise was cowering under theaccusation of being a German agent. 

He resolved that he would forget Marie Louise, discharge her from theemployment of his thoughts. Yet that night as he lay cooking in hishot berth he thought of Marie Louise instead of ships. None of hisriot of thoughts was so fantastic as the fact that she was even thenthinking of ships and not of him. 

That night Marie Louise ransacked the library that the owner ofGrinden Hall had left with the other furniture. Some member of thefamily had been a cadet at Annapolis, and his old text-books litteredthe shelves. Marie Louise selected and bore away an armload, not ofnovels, but of books whose very backs had repelled her before. Theywere the very latest romance to her now. 

The authors of _An Elementary Manual for the Deviation of theCompass in Iron Ships_, _The Marine Steam-engine_, and _An Outlineof Ship-building_, _Theoretical and Practical_, could hardly havedreamed that their works would one night go up-stairs in the embraceof a young woman's arms. The books would have struck a naval architectas quaintly old-fashioned, but to Marie Louise they were as full ofnews as the latest evening extra. The only one she could understandwith ease was Captain Samuels's _From the Forecastle to theCabin_, and she was thrilled by his account of the struggles of hisyouth, his mutinies, his champion of the Atlantic, the semi-clipper_Dreadnaught_, but most of all, by his glowing picture of the decay ofAmerican marine glory. 

She read till she could sit up no longer. Then she undressed anddressed for sleep, snapped on the reading-lamp, and took up anotherbook, Bowditch's _American Navigation_. It was the "Revised Edition of1883, " but it was fresh sensation to her. She lay prone like thereading Magdalen in the picture, her hair pouring down over hershoulders, her bosom pillowed on the volume beneath her eyes. 

CHAPTER IX

Passengers arriving at Washington in the early morning may keep theircubbyholes until seven, no later. By half past seven they must be offthe car. Jake Nuddle was an ugly riser. He had always regarded thealarm-clock as the most hateful of all the inventions of capitaliststo enslave the poor. Jake had strange ideas of capitalists, nonestranger than that they are luxurious persons who sleep late and knockoff work early. 

Waking Jake was one of the most dangerous of his wife's prerogatives. On this morning, if he had been awaker he would have bitten off theblack hand that reached into his berth and twitched the sheet at sevenof a non-working day. The voice that murmured appealingly through thecurtains, "S'em o'clock, please!" did not please Jake at all. 

He cursed his annoying and nudging wife a few times heartily, thenbegan to make his acutely unbeautiful toilet. In the same smallwheeled hotel capitalists, statesmen, matrons, and misses weredressing in quarters just as strait. Jake and his wife had always gotin each other's way, but never more cumbersomely than now. Jake foundhis wife's stockings when he sought his socks. Her corset-stringsseemed to be everywhere. Whatever he laid hold of brought along hercorset. He thrust his head and arms into something white and came outof it sputtering:

"That's your damned shimmy. Where's my damned shirt?"

Somehow they made it at last, got dressed and washed somehow and leftthe caravansary. Mrs. Nuddle carried the heavier baggage. They hadbreakfast at the lunch-counter; then they went out and looked at theCapitol. It inspired in Jake's heart no national reverence. He said tohis awestruck wife:

"There's where that gang of robbers, the Congersmen, meet and agreeon their hold-ups. They're all the hirelings of the capitalists. 

"They voted for this rotten war without consulting the people. Theydidn't dare consult 'em. They knew the people wasn't in favor of nosuch crime. But the Congersmen get their orders from Wall Street, andthem brokers wanted the war because they owned so much stock thatwouldn't be worth the paper it was printed on unless the United Statesjoined the Allies and collected for 'em off Germany. "

It was thus that Jake and his kind regarded the avalanche ofhorrific woe that German ambition spilled upon the world and keptrolling down from the mountain-tops of heaped-up munitions. It wasthus that they contemplated the mangled villages of innocent Belgium, the slavery-drives in the French towns, the windrows of Britishdead, the increasing lust of conquest, which grew by what it fedon, till at last America, driven frantic by the endless carnage, took up belatedly the gigantic task of throwing back the avalancheacross the mountain to the other side before it engulfed andruined the world. While Europe agonized in torments unthinkable, immeasurable, and yet mysteriously endurable only because therewas no escape visible, the Jake Nuddles, illiterate and literate, croaked their batrachian protest against capital, bewailed the lotof imaginary working-men, and belied the life of real working-men. 

Staring at the Capitol, which means so much nobility to him who hasthe nobility to understand the dream that raised it, he burlesqued itsideals. Cruel, corrupt, lazy, and sloven of soul, he found there whathe knew best because it was his own. Aping a sympathy he could notfeel, he grew maudlin:

"So they drag our poor boys from their homes in droves and send 'emoff to the slaughter-house in France--all for money! Anything to grinddown the honest workman into the dust, no matter how many mothers'hearts they break!"

Jake was one of those who never express sympathy for anybody except inthe course of a tirade against somebody else. He had small use forwives, mothers, or children except as clubs to pound rich men with. His wife, who knew him all too well, was not impressed by hiseloquence. Her typical answer to his typical tirade was, "I wonder howon earth we're goin' to find Mamise. "

Jake groaned at the anticlimax to his lofty flight, but he realizedthat the main business before the house was what his wife propounded. 

He remembered seeing an Information Bureau sign in the station. He hadlearned from the newspaper in which he had seen Mamise's picture thatshe was visiting Major Widdicombe. He had written the name down on thetablets of his memory, and his first plan was to find MajorWiddicombe. Jake had a sort of wolfish cunning in tracing people hewanted to meet. He could always find anybody who might lend him money. He had mysterious difficulties in tracing some one who could give himwork. 

He left his wife to simmer in the station while he set forth on ascouting expedition. After much travel he found at last the office ofthe Ordnance Department, in which Major Widdicombe toiled, and heappeared at length at Major Widdicombe's desk. 

Jake was cautious. He would not state his purpose. He hardly dared toclaim relationship with Miss Webling until he was positive that shewas his sister-in-law. Noting Jake's evasiveness, the Major discreetlyevaded the request for his guest's address. He would say no morethan:

"Miss Webling is coming down to lunch with me at the--that is with mywife. I'll tell her you're looking for her; if she wants to meet you, I'll tell you, if you come back here. "

"All right, mucher bliged, " said Jake. Baffled and without furtherrecourse, he left the Major's presence, since there seemed to benothing else to do. But once outside, he felt that there had beensomething highly unsatisfactory about the parley. He decided toimitate Mary's little lamb and to hang about the building till theMajor should appear. In an hour or two he was rewarded by seeingWiddicombe leave the door and step into an automobile. Jake heard himtell the driver, "The Shoreham. "

Jake walked to the hotel and saw Marie Louise seated at a table by awindow. He recognized her by her picture and was duly triumphant. Hewas ready to advance and demand recognition. Then he realized that hecould make no claim on her without his awful wife's corroboration. Hetook a street-car back to the station and found his nominal helpmeetsitting just where he had left her. 

Abbie had bought no newspaper, book, or magazine to while away thetime with. She was not impatient of idleness. It was luxury enoughjust not to be warshin' clo'es, cookin' vittles, or wrastlin' dishes. She took a dreamy content in studying the majesty of the architecture, but her interest in it was about that of a lizard basking on a fallencolumn in a Greek peristyle. It was warm and spacious and nobodydisturbed her drowsy beatitude. 

When Jake came and summoned her she rose like a rheumatic oldhousehound and obeyed her master's voice. 

Jake gave her such a vote of confidence as was implied in letting herlug the luggage. It was cheaper for her to carry it than for him tostore it in the parcel-room. It caused the fellow-passengers in thestreet-car acute inconvenience, but Jake was superior to publicopinion of his wife. In such a homely guise did the fates approachMiss Webling. 

CHAPTER X

The best place for a view is in one's back yard; then it is one's own. If it is in the front yard, then the house is only part of thepublic's view. 

In London Marie Louise had lived at Sir Joseph Webling's home, itsgray, fog-stained, smoked-begrimed front flush with the pavement. Butback of the house was a high-walled garden with a fountain that neverplayed. There was a great rug of English-green grass, very green allwinter and still greener all summer. At an appropriate spot was atree; a tea-table sat under it; in blossom-time it sprinkled pinkpetals on the garden hats of the women; and on the grass they fell, totwist Tennyson, softlier than tired eyelids on tired eyes. 

So Marie Louise adored her new home with its unpromising entrance andits superb surprise from the rear windows. When she broke the news toPolly Widdicombe, that she was leaving her, they had a good fight overit. Yet Polly could hardly insist that Marie Louise stay with herforever, especially when Marie Louise had a perfectly good home of herown. 

Polly went along for a morning of reconstruction work. There werepictures, chairs, cushions, and knickknacks that simply had to behidden away. The original tenants evidently had the theory that a barespace on a wall or a table was as indecent as on a person's person. 

They had taken crude little chromos and boxed them in gaudy frames, many of whose atrocities were aggravated by panels of plush of a colorthat could hardly be described by any other name than fermented prune. Over the corner of these they had thrown "throws" or drapes ofmalicious magenta horribly figured in ruthless incompatibilities. 

Chairs of unexplainable framework were upholstered with fabrics ofstudied delirium. Every mantel was an exhibit of models of what not todo. When Henry James said that Americans had no end of taste, but mostof it was bad, he must have based his conclusions on such aconglomerate as this. 

Polly and Marie Louise found some of the furniture bad enough to beamusing. But they toted a vanload of it into closets and storerooms. Where the pictures came away they left staring spaces of unfadedwall-paper. Still, they were preferable to the pictures. 

By noon the women were exhausted. They washed their dust-smutted handsand faces and exclaimed upon the black water they left. But theexercise had given them appetite, and when Marie Louise locked thefront door she felt all the comfort of a householder. She had a homeof her very own to lock up, and though she had roamed throughpleasures and palaces, she agreed that, be it ever so horrible, there's no place like home. 

She and Polly were early to their luncheon engagement with MajorWiddicombe. Their appetites disputed the clock. Polly decided totelephone her husband for Heaven's sake to come at once to herrescue. 

While Polly was telephoning Marie Louise sat waiting on a divan. Hermuscles were so tired that she grew nearly as placidly animal as hersister in the Pennsylvania Station. She was as different in everyother way as possible. Her life, her environment, her ambitions, hadbeen completely alien to anything Mrs. Nuddle had known. She had beeneducated and evolved by entirely different joys and sorrows, fears andsuccesses. 

Mrs. Nuddle had been afraid that her husband would beat her again, orkill one of the children in his rage, or get himself sent to prison orto the chair; Mrs. Nuddle had been afraid that the children would berun over in the street, would pull a boilerful of boiling water overonto them, or steal, or go wrong in any of the myriad ways thatchildren have of going wrong. Mrs. Nuddle's ecstasies were a job welldone, a word of praise from a customer, a chance to sit down, aninterval without pain or worry when her children were asleep, or whenher husband was working and treating her as well as one treats an oldhorse. 

Of such was the kingdom of Mrs. Nuddle. 

Marie Louise had dwelt in a world no more and no less harrowing, butinfinitely unlike. The two sisters were no longer related to eachother by any ties except blood kinship. Mrs. Nuddle was a good womangone wrong, Marie Louise a goodish woman gone variously; Mrs. Nuddle apoor advertisement of a life spent in honest toil, early rising, earlybedding, churchgoing, and rigid economy; Marie Louise a mostattractive evidence of how much depends on a careful carriage, acultivated taste in clothes, and an elegant acquaintance. 

At last, after years of groping toward each other, the sisters were tobe brought together. But there was to be an intervention. Even whileMarie Louise sat relaxed in a fatigue that she would have calledcontentment trouble was stealing toward her. 

The spider who came and sat beside this Miss Muffet was Nicky Easton. He frightened her, but he would not let her run away. 

As he dropped to her side she rose with a gasp, but he pressed herback with a hasty grip on her arm and a mandatory prayer:

"Wait once, pleass. "

The men who had shadowed Marie Louise had months before given her upas hopelessly correct. But guardian angels were still provided forNicky Easton; and one of them, seeing this meeting, took Marie Louiseback into the select coterie of the suspects. 

There's no cure for your bodily aches and pains like terror. It liftsthe paralytic from his bed, makes the lame scurry, and gives the blindeyes enough for running. Marie Louise's fatigue fell from her like aburden whose straps are slit. 

When Nicky said: "I could not find you in New York. Now we are here wecan have a little talkink, " she stammered: "Not here! Not now!"

"Why not, pleass?"

"I have an engagement--a friend--she has just gone to telephone amoment. "

"You are ashamed of me, then?"

She let him have it. "Yes!"

He winced at the slap in the face. 

She went on: "Besides, she knows you. Her husband is an officer in thearmy. I can't talk to you here. "

"Where, then, and when?"

"Any time--any place--but here. "

"Any time is no time. You tell me, or I stay now. "

"Come to--to my house. "

"You have a howiss, then?"

"Yes. I just took it to-day. I shall be there this afternoon--atthree, if you will go. "

"Very goot. The address is--"

She gave it; he repeated it, mumbled, "At sree o'clock I am there, "and glided away just as Polly returned. 

They were eating a consommé madrilène when the Major arrived. Hedutifully ate what his wife had selected for him, and listened amiablyto what she had to tell him about her morning, though he was burstingto tell her about his. Polly made a vivid picture of Marie Louise'snew home, ending with:

"Everything on God's earth in it except a piano and a book. "

This reminded Marie Louise of the books she had read on ship-building, and she asked if she might borrow them. Polly made a woeful face atthis. 

"My dear! When a woman starts to reading up on a subject a man isinterested in, she's lost--and so is he. Beware of it, my dear. "

Tom demurred: "Go right on, Marie Louise, so that you can take anintelligent interest in what your husband is working on. "

"My husband!" said Marie Louise. "Aren't you both a trifle premature?"

Polly went glibly on: "Don't listen to Tom, my dear. What does he knowabout what a man wants his wife to take an intelligent interest in?Once a woman knows about her husband's business, he's finished withher and ready for the next. Tom's been trying to tell me for ten yearswhat he's working at, and I haven't the faintest idea yet. It alwaysgives him something to hope for. When he comes home of evenings he canalways say, 'Perhaps to-night's the night when she'll listen. ' Butonce you listen intelligently and really understand, he's through withyou, and he'll quit you for some pink-cheeked ignoramus who hasn'theard about it yet. "

Marie Louise, being a woman, knew how to get her message to anotherwoman; the way seems to be to talk right through her talk. The acutecreatures have ears to hear with and mouths to talk with, and theyapparently find no difficulty in using both at the same time. Somewhere along about the middle of Polly's discourse Marie Louisebegan to answer it before it was finished. Why should she wait whenshe knew what was coming? So she said contemporaneously andcovocally:

"But I'm not going to marry a ship-builder, my dear. Don't be absurd!I'm not planning to take an intelligent interest in Mr. Davidge'sbusiness. I'm planning to take an intelligent interest in my own. I'mgoing to be a ship-builder myself, and I want to learn the A B C's. "

They finished that argument at the same time and went on together downthe next stretch in a perfect team:

"Oh, well of course, if "Mr. Davidge tells me, "that's the case, " asserted Marie Louise explained, "thatPolly, "then you're quite women are needed in ship-crazy--unless you're simply building, and that anybodyhunting for a new sensation. Can learn. In fact, every-And on that score I'll admit body has to, anyway; sothat it sounds rather interest- I've got as good a chance asing. I may take a whack at a man. I'm as strong as ait myself. I'm quite fed up horse. Fine! Come along, on bandages and that sort of and we'll build a U-boatthing. Get me a job in the chaser together. Mr. Davidgesame factory or whatever would be delighted tothey call it. Will you?" have you, I'm sure. "

This was arrant hubbub to the mere man who was not capable of carryingon a conversation except by the slow, primitive methods of Greekdrama, strophe and antistrophe, one talking while the other listened, then _vice versa_. 

So he had time to remember that he had something to remember, and todig it up. He broke in on the dialogue:

"By the way, that reminds me, Marie Louise. There's a man in townlooking for you. "

"Looking for me!" Marie Louise gasped, alert as an antelope at once. "What was his name?"

"I can't seem to recall it. I'll have it in a minute. He didn'timpress me very favorably, so I didn't tell him you were living withus. "

Polly turned on Tom: "Come along, you poor nut! I hate riddles, and sodoes Marie Louise. "

"That's it!" Tom cried. "_Riddle--Nuddle_. His name is Nuddle. Do youknow a man named Nuddle?"

The name conveyed nothing to Marie Louise except a suspicion that Mr. Verrinder had chosen some pseudonym. 

"What was his nationality?" she asked. "English?"

"I should say not! He was as Amurrican as a piece of pungkin pie. "

Marie Louise felt a little relieved, but still at sea. When Widdicombeasked what message he should take back her curiosity led her to braveher fate and know the worst:

"Tell him to come to my house at any time this afternoon--no, notbefore five. I have some shopping to do, and the servants to engage. "

She did not ask Polly to go with her, and Polly took the hint conveyedin Marie Louise's remark as they left the dining-room, "I've a littletelephoning to do. "

Polly went her way, and Marie Louise made a pretext of telephoning. 

Major Widdicombe did not see Jake Nuddle as he went down the steps, for the reason that Jake saw him first and drew his wife aside. Hewondered what had become of Marie Louise. 

Jake and his wife hung about nonplussed for a few minutes, till MarieLouise came out. She had waited only to make sure that Tom and Pollygot away. When she came down the steps she cast a casual glance atJake and her sister, who came toward her eagerly. But she assumed thatthey were looking at some one else, for they meant nothing to hereyes. 

She had indeed never seen this sister before. The sister who waddledtoward her was not the sister she had left in Wakefield years before. That sister was young and lean and a maid. Marriage and hard work andchildren had swaddled this sister in bundles of strange flesh anddrawn the face in new lines. 

Marie Louise turned her back on her, but heard across her shoulder thepoignant call:

"Mamise!"

That voice was the same. It had not lost its own peculiar cry, andit reverted the years and altered the scene like a magician's"Abracadabra!"

Marie Louise swung round just in time to receive the full brunt of hersister's charge. The repeated name identified the strange-lookingmatron as the girl grown old, and Marie Louise gathered her into herarms with a fierce homesickness. Her loneliness had found what itneeded. She had kinfolk now, and she sobbed: "Abbie darling! Mydarling Abbie!" while Abbie wept: "Mamise! Oh, my poor littleMamise!"

A cluster of cab-drivers wondered what it was all about, but JakeNuddle felt triumphant. Marie Louise looked good to him as helooked her over, and for the nonce he was content to have the slim, round fashionable creature enveloped in his wife's arms for asister-in-law. 

Abbie, a little homelier than ever with her face blubbery andtear-drenched, turned to introduce what she had drawn in thematrimonial lottery. 

"Mamise!" she said. "I want you should meet my husbin'. "

"I'm delighted!" said Mamise, before she saw her sister's fate. Shewas thorough-trained if not thorough-born, and she took the shockwithout reeling. 

Jake's hand was not as rough so it ought to have been, and hiscordiality was sincere as he growled:

"Pleaster meecher, Mamise. "

He was ready already with her first name, but she had nothing to callhim by. It never occurred to Abbie that her sister would notinstinctively know a name so familiar to Mrs. Nuddle as Mr. Nuddle, and it was a long while before Marie Louise managed to pick it up andpiece it together. 

Her embarrassment at meeting Jake was complete. She asked:

"Where are you living--here in Washington?"

"Laws, no!" said Abbie; and that reminded her of the bundles she haddropped at the sight of Mamise. They had played havoc with thesidewalk traffic, but she hurried to regain them. 

Jake could be the gentleman when there was somebody looking whocounted. So he checked his wife with amazement at the preposterousnessof her carrying bundles while Sir Walter Raleigh was at hand. Hepicked them up and brought them to Marie Louise's feet, disgusted atthe stupid amazement of his wife, who did not have sense enough toconceal it. Marie Louise was growing alarmed at the perfect plebeianceof her kith. She was unutterably ashamed of herself for noticing suchthings, but the eye is not to blame for what it can't help seeing, northe ear for what is forced upon it. She had a feeling that the firstthing to do was to get her sister in out of the rain of glances fromthe passers-by. 

"You must come to me at once, " she said. "I've just taken a house. I've got no servants in yet, and you'll have to put up with it as itis. "

Abbie gasped at the "servants. " She noted the authority with whichMarie Louise beckoned a chauffeur and pointed to the bundles, which hehastened to seize. 

Abbie was overawed by the grandeur of her first automobile and showedit on her face. She saw many palaces on the way and expected MarieLouise to stop at any of them. When the car drew up at Marie Louise'shome Abbie was bitterly disappointed; but when she got inside shefound her dream of paradise. Marie Louise was distressed at Abbie'sloud praise of the general effect and her unfailing instinct forpicking out the worst things on the walls or the floors. This distresscaused a counter-distress of self-rebuke. 

Jake was on his dignity at first, but finally he unbent enough to takeoff his coat, hang it over a chair, and stretch himself out on a divanwhose ulterior maroon did not disturb his repose in the least. 

"This is what I call something like, " he said; and then, "And now, Mamise, set in and tell us all about yourself. "

This was the last thing Mamise wanted to do, and she evaded with aplea:

"I can wait. I want to hear all about you, Abbie darling. How are you, and how long have you been married, and where do you live?"

"Goin' on eight years come next October, and we got three childern. Ibeen right poorly lately. Don't seem to take as much interest inworshin' as I useter. "

"Washing!" Marie Louise exclaimed. "You don't wash, do you? That is, Imean to say--professionally?"

"Yes, I worsh. Do right smart of work, too. "

Marie Louise was overwhelmed. She had a hundred thousand dollars, andher sister was a--washerwoman! It was intolerable. She glanced atJake. 

"But Mr. --your husband--"

"Oh, Jake, he works--off and on. But he ain't got what you might calla hankerin' for it. He can take work or let it alone. I can't say asmuch for him when it comes to licker. Fact is, some the women say, 'Why, Mrs. Nuddle, how do you ever--'"

"Your name isn't--it isn't Nuddle, is it?" Marie Louise broke in. 

"Sure it is. What did you think it was?"

So the sleeping brother-in-law was the mysterious inquirer. Thatsolved one of her day's puzzles and solved it very tamely. So many oflife's mysteries, like so many of fiction's, peter out at the end. They don't sustain. 

Marie Louise still belonged to the obsolescent generation thatbelieved it a husband's duty to support his wife by his own labor. Thethought of her sister supporting a worthless husband by her own toilwas odious. The first task was to get Jake to work. It was onlynatural that she should think of her own new mania. 

She spoke so eagerly that she woke Jake when she said: "I have it! Whydoesn't your husband go in for ship-building?"

Marie Louise told him about Davidge and what Davidge had said of theneed of men. She was sure that she could get him a splendid job, andthat Mr. Davidge would do anything for her. 

Jake was about to rebuke such impudence as it deserved, but a thoughtstruck him, and he chewed it over. Among the gang of idealists heconsorted with, or at least salooned with, the dearest ambition of allwas to turn America's dream of a vast fleet of ships into a nightmareof failure. In order to secure "just recognition" for the workman theywould cause him to be recognized as both a loafer and a traitor--thatwas their ideal of labor. 

As Marie Louise with unwitting enthusiasm rhapsodized over theshipyard Jake's interest kindled. To get into a shipyard just growing, and spread his doctrines among the men as they came in, to bring offstrikes and to play tricks with machinery everywhere, to wrecklaunching-ways so that hulls that escaped all other attacks wouldcrack through and stick--it was a Golconda of opportunities for thismodern conquistador. He could hardly keep his face straight till heheard Marie Louise out. He fooled her entirely with his ardor; andwhen he asked, "Do you think your gentleman friend, this man Davidge, would really give me a job?" she cried, with more enthusiasm thantact:

"I know he would. He'd give anybody a job. Besides, I'm going to takeone myself. And, Abbie honey, what would you say to your becoming aship-builder, too? It would be immensely easier and pleasanter thanwashing clothes. "

Before Abbie could recover the breath she lost at the picture ofherself as a builder of ships the door-bell rang. Abbie peeked andwhispered:

"It's a man. "

"Do you suppose it's that feller Davidge?" said Jake. 

"No, it's--it's--somebody else, " said Marie Louise, who knew who itwas without looking. 

She was at her wit's end now. Nicky Easton was at the door, and asister and a brother-in-law whose existence she had not suspected werein the parlor. 

CHAPTER XI

If anything is anybody's very own, it is surely his past, orhers--particularly hers. But Nicky Easton was bringing one of the mostwretched chapters of Marie Louise's past to her very door. She did notwant to reopen it, especially not before her new-found family. Onelikes to have a few illusions left for these reunions. So she said:

"Abbie darling, would you forgive me if I saw this--person alone?Besides, you'll be wanting to get settled in your room, if Mr. --Ja--yourhusband doesn't mind taking your things up. "

Abbie had not been used to taking dismissals graciously. She had neverbeen to court and been permitted to retire. Besides, people who knowhow to take an eviction gracefully usually know enough to get outbefore they are put out. But Abbie had to be pushed, and she went, heartbroken, disgraced, resentful. Jake sulked after her. They movedlike a couple of old flea-bitten mongrels spoken to sharply. 

And of course they stole back to the head of the stairs and listened. 

Nicky had his face made up for a butler, or at least a maid. When hesaw Marie Louise he had to undo his features, change his openingoration, and begin all over again. 

"It is zhoo yourself, then, " he said. 

"Yes. Come in, do. I have no servants yet. "

"Ah!" he cooed, encouraged at once. 

She squelched his hopes. "My sister and her husband are here, however. "

This astounded him so that he spoke in two languages at once: "Yourschwister! Since how long do you have a sester? And where did youget?"

"I have always had her, but we haven't seen each other for years. "

He gasped, "_Was Sie nicht sagen_!"

"And if you wouldn't mind not talking German--"

"_Recht so_. Excuse. Do I come in--no?"

She stepped back, and he went into the drawing-room. He smiled at whathe saw, and was polite, if cynical. 

"You rent foornished?"

"Yes. "

He waved her to a chair so that he might sit down. 

"_Was giebt's neues_--er--what is the noose?"

"I have none. What is yours?"

"You mean you do not wish to tell. If I should commence once, I shouldnever stop. But we are both alife yet. That is always somethink. I wasnever so nearly not. "

Marie Louise could not withhold the protest:

"You saved yourself by betraying your friends. "

"Well, I telled--I told only what the English knew already. If theylet me go for it, it was no use to kill everybody, should I?"

He was rather miserable about it, for he could see that she despisedhim more for being an informer than for having something to inform. Hepleaded in extenuation:

"But I shall show how usefool I can be to my country. Those Englishshall be sorry to let me go, and my people glad. And so shall you. "

She studied him, and dreaded him, loathing his claim on her, longingto order him never to speak again to her, yet strangely interested inhis future power for evil. The thought occurred to her that if shecould learn his new schemes she might thwart them. That would be someatonement for what she had not prevented before. This inspirationbrightened her so suddenly and gave such an eagerness to her mannerthat he saw the light and grew suspicious--a spy has to be, for hecarries a weapon that has only one cartridge in it. 

Marie Louise waited for him to explain his purpose till the suspensebegan to show; then she said, bluntly:

"What mischief are you up to now?"

"Mitschief--me?" he asked, all innocently. 

"You said you wanted to see me. "

"I always want to see you. You interest--my eyes--my heart--"

"Please don't. " She said it with the effect of slamming a door. 

She looked him full in the eyes angrily, then remembered hercuriosity. He saw her gaze waver with a double motive. 

It is strange how people can fence with their glances, as if they wereemanations from the eyes instead of mere reflections of light back andforth. But however it is managed, this man and this woman played theirstares like two foils feeling for an opening. At length he surrenderedand resolved to appeal:

"How do you feel about--about us?"

"Who are us?"

"We Germans. "

"We are not Germans. I'm American. "

"Then England is your greater enemy than Germany. "

She wanted to smile at that, but she said:

"Perhaps. "

He pleaded for his cause. "America ought not to have joined the waragainst the _Vaterland_. It is only a few Americans--bankers wholended money to England--who wish to fight us. "

Up-stairs Jake's heart bounded. Here was a fellow-spirit. He listenedfor Marie Louise's response; he caught the doubt in her tone. Shecould not stomach such an absurdity:

"Bosh!" she said. 

It sounded like "Boche!" And Nicky flushed. 

"You have been in this Washington town too long. I think I shall gonow. "

Marie Louise made no objection. She had not found out what he was upto, but she was sick of duplicity, sick of the sight of him and all hestood for. She did not even ask him to come again. She went to thedoor with him and stood there a moment, long enough for the man whowas shadowing Nicky to identify her. She watched Nicky go and hopedthat she had seen the last of him. But up-stairs the great heart ofJake Nuddle was seething with excitement. He ran to the front window, caught a glimpse of Nicky, and hurried back down the stairs. 

Abbie called out, "Where you goin'?"

Jake did not answer such a meddlesome question, but he said to MarieLouise, as he brushed past her on the stairs:

"I'm going to the drug-store to git me some cigars. "

Nicky paused on the curb, looking for a cab. He had dismissed his own, hoping to spend a long while with Marie Louise. He saw that he wasnot likely to pick up a cab in such a side-street, and so he walked onbriskly. 

He was furious with Marie Louise. He had had hopes of her, and she hadfooled him. These Americans were no longer dependable. 

And then he heard footsteps on the walk, quick footsteps that spelledhurry. Nicky drew aside to let the speeder pass; but instead he hearda constabular "Hay!" and his shoulder-blades winced. 

It was only Jake Nuddle. Jake had no newspaper to sell, but he had anidea for a collaboration which would bring him some of that easy moneythe Germans were squandering like drunken sailors. 

"You was just talkin' to my sister-in-law, " said Jake. 

"Ah, you are then the brother of Marie Louise?"

"Yep, and I couldn't help hearin' a little of what passed betweenyou. "

Jake's slyness had a detective-like air in Nicky's anxious eyes. Hewarned himself to be on guard. Jake said:

"I'm for Germany unanimous. I think it's a rotten shame for America togo into this war. And some of us Americans are sayin' we won't standfor it. We don't own no Congersmen; we're only the protelarriat, asthe feller says; but we're goin' to put this country on the bum, andthat's what old Kaiser Bill wants we should do, or I miss my guess, hay?"

Nicky was cautious:

"How do you propose to help the All Highest?"

"Sabotodge. "

"You interest me, " said Nicky. 

They had come to one of the circles that moon the plan of Washington. Nicky motioned Jake to a bench, where they could command the approachand be, like good children, seen and not heard. Jake outlined hisplan. 

When Nicky Easton had rung Marie Louise's bell he had not imagined howmuch help Marie Louise would render him in giving him the preciousprivilege of meeting her unprepossessing brother-in-law; nor had shedreamed what peril she was preparing for Davidge in planning to securefor him and his shipyard the services of this same Jake, as lazy andas amiable as any side-winder rattlesnake that ever basked in thesunlit sand. 

BOOK IV

AT THE SHIPYARD

[Illustration: There was something hallowed and awesome about it all. Ithad a cathedral majesty. ]

CHAPTER I

Davidge despised a man who broke his contracts. He broke one withhimself and despised himself. He broke his contract to ignore theexistence of Marie Louise. The next time he came to Washington hesought her out. He called up the Widdicombe home and learned that shehad moved. She had no telephone yet, for it took a vast amount of timeto get any but a governmental telephone installed. So he noted heraddress, and after some hesitation decided to call. If she did notwant to see him, her butler could tell him that she was out. 

He called. Marie Louise had tried in vain to get in servants who wouldstay. Abbie talked to them familiarly--and so did Jake. The virtuousones left because of Jake, and the others left because of Abbie. 

So Abbie went to the door when Davidge called. He supposed that thebutler was having a day off and the cook was answering the bell. Heoffered his card to Abbie. 

She wiped her hand on her apron and took it, then handed it back tohim, saying:

"You'll have to read it. I ain't my specs. "

Davidge said, "Please ask Miss Webling if she can see Mr. Davidge. "

"You're not Mr. Davidge!" Abbie gasped, remembering the importanceMarie Louise gave him. 

"Yes, " said Davidge, with proper modesty. 

"Well, I want to know!"

Abbie wiped her hand again and thrust it forward, seizing hisquestioning fingers in a practised clench, and saying, "Come right onin and seddown. " She haled the befuddled Davidge to a chair andregarded him with beaming eyes. He regarded her with the eyes ofastonishment--and the ears, too, for the amazing servant, foreverwiping her hands, went to the stairs and shrieked:

"Mamee-eese! Oh, Ma-mee-uz! Mist' Davidge is shere. "

Poor Mamise! She had to come down upon such a scene, and withouthaving had any chance to break the news that she had a sister she hadto introduce the sister. She had no chance to explain her till afortunate whiff of burning pastry led Abbie to groan, "My Lord, thempies!" and flee. 

If ever Marie Louise had been guilty of snobbery, she was doingpenance for it now. She was too loyal to what her family ought to havebeen and was not to apologize for Abbie, but she suffered in a socialpurgatory. 

Worse yet, she had to ask Davidge to give her brother-in-law a job. And Davidge said he would. He said it before he saw Jake. And when hesaw him, though he did not like him, he did not guess what treacherythe fellow planned. He invited him to come to the shipyard--by train. 

He invited Mamise to ride thither in her own car the next day to seehis laboratory for ships, never dreaming that the German menace wasalready planning its destruction. 

 * * * * *

Not only in cheap plays and farces do people continue in perplexitiesthat one question and one answer would put an end to. In real life weincessantly dread to ask the answers to conundrums that we cannotsolve, and persist in misery for lack of a little frankness. 

For many a smiling mile, on the morrow, Davidge rode in a torment. Sostout a man, to be fretted by so little a matter! Yet he was unable tobring himself to the point of solving his curiosity. The car hadcovered forty miles, perhaps, while his thoughts ran back and forth, lacing the road like a dog accompanying a carriage. A mentalspeedometer would have run up a hundred miles before he made theplunge and popped the subject. 

"Mamise is an unusual name, " he remarked. 

Marie Louise was pleasantly startled by the realization that his longsilence had been devoted to her. 

"Like it?" she asked. 

"You bet. " The youthfulness of this embarrassed him and made herlaugh. He grew solemn for about eleven hundred yards of road that wentup and down and up and down in huge billows. Then he broke out again:

"It's an unusual name. "

She laughed patiently. "So I've heard. "

The road shot up a swirling hill into an old, cool grove. 

"I only knew one other--er--Mamise. "

This sobered her. It was unpleasant not to be unique. The chill woodsseemed to be rather glum about it, too. The road abandoned them andflung into a sun-bathed plain. 

"Really? You really knew another--er--Mamise?"

"Yes. Years ago. "

"Was she nice?"

"Very. "

"Oh!" She was sorry about that, too. The road slipped across aloose-planked, bone-racking bridge. With some jealousy she asked, "What was she like?"

"You. "

"That's odd. " A little shabby, topply-tombed graveyard glided by, reverting to oblivion. "Tell me about her. "

A big motor charged past so fast that the passengers were only blurs, a grim chauffeur-effect with blobs of fat womankind trailing snappingveils. The car trailed a long streamer of dust that tasted of theroad. When this was penetrated they entered upon a stretch of pleasanttravel for eyes and wheels, on a long, long channel through a fruitfulprairie, a very allegory of placid opulence. 

"It was funny, " said Davidge. "I was younger than I am. I went to ashow one night. A musical team played that everlasting 'Poet andPeasant' on the xylophones. They played nearly everything on nearlyeverything--same old stuff, accordions, horns, bells; same old jokesby the same fool clown and the solemn dubs. But they had a girl with'em--a young thing. She didn't play very well. She had a way with her, though--seemed kind of disgusted with life and the rest of the troupeand the audience. And she had a right to be disgusted, for she was aspretty as--I don't know what. She was just beautiful--slim and limberand long--what you might imagine a nymph would look like if she gotloose in a music-hall. 

"I was crazy about her. If I could ever have written a poem aboutanybody, it would have been about her. She struck me as something sortof--well, divine. She wore the usual, and not much of it--low neck, bare arms, and--tights. But I kind of revered her; she was so dog-onpretty. 

"When the drop fell on that act I was lost. I was an orphan for true. I couldn't rest till I saw the manager and asked him to take me backand introduce me to her. He gave me a nasty grin and said he didn'trun that kind of a theater, and I said I'd knock his face off if hethought I thought he did. Well, he gave in finally and took me back. Ifell down the side-aisle steps and sprawled along the back of theboxes and stumbled up the steps to the stage. 

"And then I met Mamise--that was her name on the program--Mamise. Shewas pretty and young as ever, but she wasn't a nymph any longer. Shewas just a young, painted thing, a sulky, disgusted girl. And she wasfeeding a big monkey--a chimpanzee or something. It was sitting on abicycle and smoking a cigar--getting ready to go on the stage. 

"It was so human and so unhuman and so ugly, and she was so graceful, that it seemed like a sort of satire on humanity. The manager said, 'Say, Mamise, this gentleman here wants to pays his respecks. ' Shelooked up in a sullen way, and the chimpanzee showed his teeth at me, and I mumbled something about expecting to see the name Mamise up inthe big electric lights. 

"She gave me a look that showed she thought I was a darned fool, and Iagreed with her then--and since. She said, 'Much obliged' in acontemptuous contralto and--and turned to the other monkey. 

"The interview was finished. I backed over a scene-prop, knocked downa stand of Indian-clubs, and got out into the alley. I was mad at herat first, but afterward I always respected her for snubbing me. Inever saw her again, never saw her name again. As for the big electriclights, I was a punk prophet. But her name has stood out in electriclights in my--my memory. I suppose she left the stage soon after. Shemay be dead now. 

"It hurt me a lot to have her wither me with that one big, slow glanceof hers, but I was glad of it afterward. It made me feel morecomfortable about her. If she had welcomed every stranger that camealong she--well, as she didn't, she must have been a good girl, don'tyou suppose?"

The road still pierced the golden scene, a monotony of plenty, anendless-seeming treasure of sheaves of wheat and stacks of corn, withpumpkins of yellow metal and twisted ingots of squash; but an autumnalsorrow clouded the landscape for Marie Louise. 

"What do you call a good girl?" she asked. 

"That's a hard question to answer nowadays. "

"Why nowadays?"

"Oh, because our ideas of good are so much more merciful and our ideasof girls are so much more--complicated. Anyway, as the fellow said, that's my story. And now you know all about Mamise that I know. Canyou forgive her for wearing your name?"

"I could forgive that Mamise anything, " she sighed. "But this Mamise Ican't forgive at all. "

This puzzled him. "I don't quite get that. "

She let him simmer in his own perplexity through a furlong of whathelpless writers call "a shady dell"; its tenderness won from him atimid confession. 

"You reminded me of her when I first met you. You are as different ascan be, and yet somehow you remind me of each other. "

"Somehow we are each other. "

He leaned forward and stared at her, and she spared him a hasty glancefrom the road. She was blushing. 

He was so childishly happy that he nearly said, "It's a small world, after all. " He nearly swung to the other extreme. "Well, I'll be--" Hesettled like a dying pendulum on, "Well--well!" They both laughed, andhe put out his hand. "Pleased to meet you again. "

She let go the wheel and pressed his hand an instant. 

The plateau was ended, and the road went overboard in a long, steepcascade. She pushed out the clutch and coasted. The whir of the enginestopped. The car sailed softly. 

He was eager for news of the years between then and now. It was sowonderful that the surly young beginner in vaudeville should haveevolved into this orchid of the salons. He was interested in theworking of such social machinery. He urged:

"Tell me all about yourself. "

"No, thanks. "

"But what happened to you after I saw you? You don't remember me, ofcourse. "

"I remember the monkey. "

They both laughed at the unconscious brutality of this. He turnedsolemn and asked:

"You mean that so many men came back to call on you?"

"No, not so many--too many, but not many. But--well, the monkey wasmore unusual, I suppose. He traveled with us several weeks. He wasvery jealous. He had a fight with a big trained dog that I pettedonce. They nearly killed each other before they could be separated. And such noises as they made! I can hear them yet. The manager of themonkey wanted to marry me. I was unhappy with my team, but I hatedthat man--he was such a cruel beast with the monkey that supportedhim. He'd have beaten me, too, I suppose, and made me support him. "

Davidge sighed with relief as if her escape had been just a momentbefore instead of years ago. 

"Lord! I'm glad you didn't marry him! But tell me what did happenafter I saw you. "

The road led them into a sizable town, street-car tracks, badpavements, stupid shops, workmen's little homes in rows likechicken-houses, then better streets, better homes, business blockswell paved, a hotel, a post-office, a Carnegie library, a gawky CivilWar statue, then poorer shops, rickety pavements, shanties, and thecountry again. 

Davidge noted that she had not answered his question. He repeated it:

"What happened after you and the monkey-trainer parted?"

"Oh, years later I was in Berlin with a team called the Musical Mokes, and Sir Joseph and Lady Webling saw me and thought I looked like theirdaughter, and they adopted me--that's all. "

She had grown a bit weary of her autobiography. Abbie had made hertell it over and over, but had tried in vain to find out what went onbetween her stage-beginnings and her last appearance in Berlin. 

Davidge was fascinated by her careless summary of such great events;for to one in love, all biography of the beloved becomes importanthistory. But having seen her as a member of Sir Joseph's household, hewas more interested in the interregnum. 

"But between your reaching Berlin and the time I saw you whathappened?"

"That's my business. "

She saw him wince at the abrupt discourtesy of this. She apologized:

"I don't mean to be rude, but--well, it wouldn't interest you. "

"Oh yes, it would. Don't tell me if you don't want to, but--"

"But--"

"Oh, nothing!"

"You mean you'll think that if I don't tell you it's because I'mashamed to. "

"Oh no, not at all. "

"Oh yes, at all. Well, what if I were?"

"I can't imagine your having done anything to be ashamed of. "

"O Lord! Am I as stupid as that comes to?"

"No! But I mean, you couldn't have done anything to be really ashamedof. "

"That's what I mean. I've done numberless things I'd give my right armnot to have done. "

"I mean really wicked things. "

"Such as--"

"Oh--well, I mean being bad. "

"Woman-bad or man-bad?"

"Bad for a woman. "

"So what's bad for one is not bad for another. "

"Well, not exactly, but there is a difference. "

"If I told you that I had been very, very wicked in those mysteriousyears, would it seem important to you?"

"Of course! Horribly! It couldn't help it, if a man cared much for awoman. "

"And if a woman cared a lot for a man, ought it to make a differencewhat he had done before he met her?"

"Well, of course--but that's different. "

"Why?"

"Oh, because it is. "

"Men say 'Because!' too, I see. "

"It's just shorthand with us. It means you know it so well there's noneed of explaining. "

"Oh! Well, if you--I say, _if_ you were very much in love with me--"

"Which I--"

"Don't be odiously polite. I'm arguing, not fishing. If you weredeeply in love with me, would it make a good deal of difference to youif several years ago I had been--oh, loose?"

"It would break my heart. "

Marie Louise liked him the better for this, but she held to herargument. 

"All right. Now, still supposing that we loved each other, ought Ito inquire of you if the man of my possible choice had beenperfectly--well, spotless, all that time? Ought I expect that he wassaving himself up for me, feeling himself engaged to me, you mightsay, long before he met me, and keeping perfectly true to hisfuture fiancée--ought I to expect that?"

He flushed a little as he mumbled:

"Hardly!"

She laughed a trifle bitterly:

"So we're there already?"

"Where?"

"At the double standard. What's crime for the goose is pastime for thegander. "

He did not intend to give up man's ancient prerogative. 

"Well, it's better to have almost any standard than none, isn't it?"

"I wonder. "

"The single standard is better than the sixteen to one--silver for menand gold for women. "

"Perhaps! But you men seem to believe in a sixteen to none. Mind you, I'm not saying I've been bad. "

"I knew you couldn't have been. "

"Oh yes, I could have been--I'm not saying I wasn't. I'm not sayinganything at all. I'm saying that it's nobody's business but my own. "

"Even your future husband has no right to know?"

"None whatever. He has the least right of all, and he'd better not tryto find out. "

"You women are changing things!"

"We have to, if we're going to live among men. When you're inRome--"

"You're going to turn the world upside down, I suppose?"

"We've always done that more or less, and nobody ever could stop us, from the Garden of Eden on. In the future, one thing is sure: a lot ofwomen will go wrong, as the saying is, under the new conditions, withliberty and their own money and all. But, good Lord! millions of womenwent wrong in the old days! The first books of the Bible tell aboutall the kinds of wickedness that we know to-day. Somebody complainedthat with all our modern science we hadn't invented one new deadlysin. We go on using the same old seven--well, indecencies. It will bethe same with women. It's bound to be. You can't keep women unfree. You've simply got to let them loose. The old ways were hideous; andit's dishonest and vicious to pretend that people used to be betterthan they were, just as an argument in favor of slavery, for fear theywill be worse than the imaginary woman they put up for an argument. Ifancy women were just about as good and just about as bad in oldTurkey, in the jails they call harems, as they are in a three-ringedcircus to-day. 

"When the old-fashioned woman went wrong she lied or cried orcommitted suicide or took to the streets or went on with her socialsuccess, as the case might be. She'll go on doing much the same--justas men do. Some men repent, some cheat, some kill themselves; othersgo right along about their business, whether it's in a bank, a church, a factory, a city or a village or anywhere. 

"But in the new marriage--for marriage is really changing, though themarrying people are the same old folks--in the new marriage a man mustdo what a woman has had to do all along: take the partner for betteror worse and no questions asked. "

He humored her heresy because he found it too insane to reason with. "In other words, we'll take our women as is. "

"That's the expression--_as is_. A man will take his sweetheart 'asis' or leave her. And whichever he does, as you always say, oh, she'llget along somehow. "

"The old-fashioned home goes overboard, then?"

"That depends on what you mean by the old-fashioned home. I had one, and it could well be spared. There were all kinds of homes in oldtimes and the Middle Ages and nowadays, and there'll be all kindsforever. But we're wrangling like a pair of lovers instead of gettingalong beautifully like a pair of casual acquaintances. "

"Aren't we going to be more than that?"

"I hope not. I want a place on your pay-roll; I'm not asking for a jobas your wife. "

"You can have it. "

"Thanks, but I have another engagement. When I have made my way in theworld and can support you in the style you're accustomed to, I maycome and ask for your hand. "

Her flippancy irked him worse than her appalling ideas, but she grewmore desirable as she grew more infuriating, for the love-game hassome resemblances to the fascinating-sickening game of golf. She didnot often argue abstrusely, and she was already fagged out mentally. She broke off the debate. 

"Now let's think of something else, if you don't mind. "

They talked of everything else, but his soul was chiefly engaged inalternating vows to give her up and vows to make her his own in spiteof herself; and he kept on trying to guess the conundrum she posed himin refusing to enlighten him as to those unmentionable years betweenhis first sight of her and his second. 

In making love, as in other popular forms of fiction, the element ofmystery is an invaluable adjunct to the property value. He was stillpondering her and wondering what she was pondering when they reachedthe town where his shipyard lay. 

CHAPTER II

From a hilltop Marie Louise saw below her in panorama an ugly messof land and riverscape--a large steel shed, a bewilderment ofscaffolding, then a far stretch of muddy flats spotted with flies thatwere probably human beings, among a litter of timber, of girders, ofmachine-shanties, of railroad tracks, all spread out along a dirtywater. 

A high wire fence surrounded what seemed to need no protection. In theneighborhood were numbers of workmen's huts--some finished, and longrows of them in building, as much alike and as graceful as a pan ofraw biscuits. 

She saw it all as it was, with a stranger's eyes. Davidge saw it withthe eyes a father sees a son through, blind to evident faults, vividlyaccepting future possibilities as realities. 

Davidge said, with repressed pride:

"Well, thar she blows!"

"What?"

"My shipyard!" This with depressed pride. 

"Oh, rilly! So it is! How wonderful!" This with forced enthusiasm. 

"You don't like it, " he groaned. 

"I'm crazy about it. "

"If you could have seen it when it was only marsh and weeds andmud-holes and sluices you'd appreciate what we've reclaimed and thework that has been done. "

The motor pitched down a badly bruised road. 

"Where's the ship that's nearly done--your mother's ship?"

"Behind the shed, in among all that scaffolding. "

"Don't tell me there's a ship in there!"

"Yep, and she's just bursting to come out. "

They entered the yard, past a guardian who looked as if a bottle ofbeer would buy him, and a breath strong enough to blow off the frothwould blow him over. 

Within a great cage of falsework Marie Louise could see the ship thatDavidge had dedicated to his mother. But he did not believe MarieLouise ready to understand it. 

"Let's begin at the beginning, " he said. "See those railroad tracksover there? Well, that's where the timber comes from the forests andthe steel from the mills. Now we'll see what happens to 'em in theshop. "

He took her into the shed and showed her the traveling-cranes thatcould pick up a locomotive between their long fingers and carry itacross the long room like a captured beetle. 

"Up-stairs is the mold-loft. It's our dressmaking-shop. We lay downthe design on the floor, and mark out every piece of the ship in exactsize, and then make templates of wood to match--those are thepatterns. It's something like making a gown, I suppose. "

"I see, " said Marie Louise. "Then you fit the dress together out inthe yard. "

"Exactly, " said Davidge. "You've mastered the whole thing already. It's a long climb up there. Will you try it?"

"Later, perhaps. I want to see these delightful what-you-may-call-'emsfirst. "

She watched the men at work, each group about its own machine, likepriests at their various altars. Davidge explained to her the cruncherthat manicured thick plates of steel sheets as if they werefinger-nails, or beveled their edges; the puncher that needledrivet-holes through them as if they were silk, the ingenious Lysholmtables with rollers for tops. 

Marie Louise was like a child in a wholesale toy-shop, understandingnothing, ecstatic over everything, forbidden to touch anything. In herignorance of technical matters, the simplest device was miraculous. The whole place was a vast laboratory of mysteries and magic. 

There was a something hallowed and awesome about it all. It had acathedral grandeur, even though it was a temple builded with hands forthe sake of the things builded with hands. The robes of the votarieswere grimy and greasy, and the prayer they poured out was sweat. Theychewed tobacco and spat regardless. They eyed her as curiously as shethem. They swaggered each his own way, one by extra obliviousness, another with a flourish of gesture. They seemed to want to speak, andso did she, but embarrassment caused a common silence. 

On the ground they had cleared and under the roof they had establishedthey had fashioned vessels that should carry not myrrh and nard tomake a sweet smell or to end in a delicate smoke, but wheat, milk andcoal, clothes and shoes and shells, for the feeding and warming ofpeople in need, and for the destruction of the god of destruction. 

Marie Louise's response to the mood of the place was conversion, apassion to take vows of eternal industry, to put on the holy vestmentsof toil and wield the--she did not even know the names of the tools. She only knew that they were sacred implements. 

She was in an almost trancelike state when Davidge led her from thisworld with its own sky of glass to the outer world with the same oldspace-colored sky. He conducted her among heaps of material waiting tobe assembled, the raw stuffs of creation. 

As they drew near the almost finished ship the noise of the rivetingwhich had been but a vague palpitation of the air became a well-nighintolerable staccato. 

Men were at work everywhere, Lilliputian against the bulk of the hullthey were contriving. Davidge escorted Marie Louise with cautionacross tremulous planks, through dark caverns into the hold of theship. 

In these grottoes of steel the clamor of the riveters grew maddeningin her ears. They were everywhere, holding their machine-guns againstreverberant metal and hammering steel against steel with a superhumanvelocity; for man had made himself more than man by his owninventions, had multiplied himself by his own machineries. 

"That's the great Sutton, " Davidge remarked, presently. "He's ourprima donna. He's the champion riveter of this part of the country. Like to meet him?"

Marie Louise nodded yes before she noted that the man was stripped tothe waist. Runnels of sweat ran down his flesh and shot from themuscles leaping beneath his swart hide. 

Davidge went up to him and, after howling in vain, tapped his brawn. Sutton looked up, shut off his noise, and turned to Davidge with theimpatience of a great tenor interrupted in a cadenza by a meremanager. 

Davidge yelled, with unnecessary voltage:

"Sutton, I want to present you to Miss Webling. "

Sutton realized his nakedness like another Adam, and his confusionconfused Marie Louise. She nodded. He nodded. Perhaps he made hismuscles a little tauter. 

Davidge had planned to ask Sutton to let Marie Louise try to drive arivet, just to show her how hopeless her ambition was, but he darednot loiter. Marie Louise, feeling silly in the silence, asked, stupidly:

"So that's a riveter?"

"Yes, ma'am, " Sutton confessed, "this is a riveter. "

"Oh!" said Marie Louise. 

"Well, I guess we'll move on, " said Davidge. As conversation, it wasas unimportant as possible, but it had a negative historical value, since it left Marie Louise unconvinced of her inability to be arivetress. 

She said, "Thank you, " and moved on. Davidge followed. Sutton took uphis work again, as a man does after a woman has passed by, pretendingto be indignant, trying by an added ferocity to conceal his delight. 

At a distance Davidge paused to say: "He's a great card, Sutton. Hegets a lot of money, but he earns it before he spends it, and he's myideal of a workman. His work comes first. He hogs all the pay thetraffic will bear, but he goes on working and he takes a pride inbeing better than anybody else in his line. So many of these infernallaborers have only one ideal--to do the least possible work and earnenough to loaf most of the time. "

Marie Louise thought of some of Jake Nuddle's principles and wonderedif she had done right in recommending him for a place on Davidge'spay-roll. She was afraid he would be a slacker, never dreaming that hewould be industrious in all forms of destruction. Jake never demandedshort hours for his conspiracies. 

At the top of the unfinished deck Marie Louise forgot Jake and gaveher mind up to admiring Davidge as the father of all this factory. Heled her down, out and along the bottom-land, through bogs, among heapsof rusty iron, to a concrete building-slip. He seemed to be veryimportant about something, but she could not imagine what it was. Shesaw nothing but a long girder made up of sections. It lay along a flatsheet of perforated steel--the homeliest contraption imaginable. 

"Whatever is all this, " she asked, --"the beginning of a bridge?"

"Yes and no. It's the beginning of part of the bridge we're buildingacross the Atlantic. "

"I don't believe that I quite follow you. "

"This is the keel of a ship. "

"No!"

"Yep!"

"And was the _Clara_ like this once?"

"No. _Clara's_ an old-fashioned creature like mother. This is anewfangled thing like--like you. "

"Like me! This isn't--"

"This is to be the _Mamise_. "

She could not hide her disappointment in her namesake. 

"I must confess she's not very beautiful to start with. "

"Neither were you at first, I suppose. I--I beg your pardon. Imean--"

He tried to tell her about the new principles of fabricated ships, thestandardizing of the parts, and their manufacture at distances byvarious steel plants, the absence of curved lines, the advantage ofall the sacrifice of the old art for the new speed. 

In spite of what she had read she could not make his information herown. And yet it was thrilling to look at. She broke out:

"I've just got to learn how to build ships. It's the one thing onearth that will make me happy. "

"Then I'll have to get it for you. "

"You mean it?"

"If anything I could do could make you happy--cutting off my rightarm, or--"

"That's no end nice of you. But I am in earnest. I'm wretchedlyunhappy, doing nothing. We women, I fancy, are most of us just whereboys are when they have outgrown boyhood and haven't reachedmanhood--when they are crazy to be at something, and can't even decidewhere to begin. Women have got to come out in the world and get towork. Here's my job, and I want it!"

He looked at the delicate hands she fluttered before him, and hesmiled. She protested:

"I always loved physical exercise. In England I did the roughest sortof farmwork. I'm stronger than I look. I think I'd rather play one ofthose rat-tat-tat instruments than--than a harp in New Jerusalem. "

Davidge shook his head. "I'm afraid you're not quite strong enough. Ittakes a lot of power to hold the gun against the hull. The compressedair kicks and shoves so hard that even men tire quickly. Suttonhimself has all he can do to keep alive. "

"Give me a hammer, then, and let me--smite something. "

"Don't you think you'd rather begin in the office? You could learn thebusiness there first. Besides, I don't like the thought of yourroughing up those beautiful hands of yours. "

"If men would only quit trying to keep women's hands soft and clean, the world would be the better for it. "

"Well, come down and learn the business first--you'd be nearer me. "

She sidestepped this sentimental jab and countered with a practicalleft hook:

"But you'd teach me ship-building?"

"I'd rather teach you home-building. "

"If you mean a home on the bounding main, I'll get right to work. "

He was stubborn about beginning with office tasks, and he took her tothe mold-loft. She was fascinated but appalled by her own ignorance ofwhat had come to be the most important of all knowledge. 

She sighed. "I've always been such a smatterer. I never have reallyknown anything about anything. Most women are so astonishinglyignorant and indifferent about the essentials of men's life. "

She secretly resolved that she would study some of the basicprinciples of male existence--bookkeeping, drafting, letter-writing, filing, trading. It amused her as a kind of new mischief to take acourse of business instruction on the sly and report for duty not asan ignoramus, but as a past-mistress in office practice. It was atleast a refreshing novelty in duplicity. 

She giggled a little at the quaintness of her conspiracy. The oldsong, "Trust Her Not--She Is Fooling Thee, " occurred to her in afantastic parody: "Trust her not--she is fooling thee; she isclandestine at the business college; she is leading a double-entrylife. She writes you in longhand, but she is studying shorthand. Sheis getting to be very fast--on the typewriter. "

Davidge asked her why she snickered, but she would not divulge herplot. She was impatient to spring it. She wondered if in a week shecould learn all she had to learn--if she worked hard. It would berather pleasant to sit at his desk-leaf and take dictation fromhim--confidential letters that he would intrust to no one else, letters written in a whisper and full of dark references. She hopedshe could learn stenographic velocity in a few days. 

As she and Davidge walked back to the car she noted the workmen'sshanties. 

"If I come here, may I live in one of those cunning new bungalettes?"

"Indeed not! There are some nice houses in town. "

"I'm sick of nice houses. I want to rough it. In the next war millionsof women will live in tents the way the men do. Those shanties wouldbe considered palaces in Belgium and northern France. In fact, anynumber of women are over there now building huts for the poor souls. "

Davidge grew more and more wretched. He could not understand such atwisted courtship. His sweetheart did not want jewels and luxuries anda life of wealthy ease. Her only interest in him seemed to be that hewould let her live in a shanty, wear overalls, and pound steel all dayfor union wages. 

CHAPTER III

An eloquent contrast with Marie Louise was furnished by Jake Nuddle. He was of the ebb type. He was degenerating into a shirker, adestroyer, a money-maniac, a complainer of other men's successes. Hislabor was hardly more than a foundation for blackmailing. He loved nocountry, had not even a sense of following the crowd. He called theStar-spangled Banner a dirty rag, and he wanted to wipe his feet onit. He was useless, baneful, doomed. 

Marie Louise was coming into a new Canaan. What she wanted was workfor the work's sake, to be building something and thereby buildingherself, to be helping her country forward, to be helping mankind, poor and rich. The sight of the flag made her heart ache with arapture of patriotism. She had the urge to march with an army. 

Marie Louise was on the up grade, Jake on the down. They met at thegate of the shipyard. 

Jake and Abbie had come over by train. Jake was surly in his tone toDavidge. His first question was, "Where do we live?"

Marie Louise answered, "In one of those quaint little cottages. "

Jake frowned before he looked. He was one of those who hate beforethey see, feel nausea before they taste, condemn the unknown, theunheard, the unoffending. 

By the time Jake's eyes had found the row of shanties his frown was asplendid thing. 

"Quaint little hog-pens!" he growled. "Is this company the same as allthe rest--treatin' its slaves like swine?"

Davidge knew the type. For the sake of Marie Louise he restrained hisfirst impulses and spoke with amiable acidity:

"There are better houses in town, some of them very handsome. "

"Yah--but what rent?"

"Rather expensive. Rather distant, too, but you can make it easily inan automobile. "

"Where would I git a nautomobile?"

"I can introduce you to the man who sold me mine. "

"How would I get the price?"

"Just where I did. "

"Whurr's that?"

"Oh, all over the place. I used to be a common unskilled laborer likeyou. And now I own a good part of this business. Thousands of men whobegan poorer than I did are richer than I am. The road's just as opento you as to me. "

Jake had plenty of answers for this. He had memorized numbers of themfrom the tracts; but also he had plans that would not be furthered byquarreling with Davidge the first day. He could do Davidge most harmby obeying him and outwardly catering to him. He solaced his pridewith a thought of what Davidge's business would look like when he gotthrough with it. 

He laughed: "All right, boss. I was just beefin', for the fun ofbeefin'. Them shanties suit me elegant. "

Then his fool wife had to go and bust in, "Oh, Jake, if you would dolike Mr. Davidge done, and git rich and live easy!"

Jake gave her a pantomimic rebuke that reduced her to a pulpysilence. 

Marie Louise thought to restore Abbie's spirits a little by sayingthat she herself was coming down to work and to live in one of thosevery shanties. But Abbie gave her up as hopeless. Why any one shouldwant to leave a house like what Mamise had, and money in the bank, andno call to lift her hand for nothing except to ring a bell and getsomebody to fetch anything, and leave all that and live like asquatter and actually work--well, it did beat all how foolish somefolks could be in the world nowadays. 

Marie Louise left Abbie and Jake to establish themselves. She had toget back to Washington. Davidge had planned to go with her, but along-distance telephone-call, and a visit from a group of prospectivestrikers, and a warning that a consignment of long-expected machineryhad not yet arrived, took him out of the car. He was tempted to gowith Marie Louise, anyway, but she begged him not to neglect hisbusiness for her unimportant self, and bade him good-by in an oldWakefield phrase, "If I don't see you again, hello!"

She returned to Washington alone, but not lonely. Her thoughts smokedthrough her brain like a dust-cloud of shining particles, each radiantatom a great idea. The road home was through the sky; the villages andgroves were vague pink clouds; the long downward slopes were shafts ofsunlight, the ridges rainbows. 

It would take her hardly any time to conquer the mysteries ofstenography. Surely they must be easy, considering some of the peoplethat practised the art. She would study ship-building, and drafting, too. Her water-color landscapes had been highly praised by certainyoung men and old ladies in England. She would learn how to keep herown bank-account and revamp her arithmetic. She would take up lightbookkeeping; and she would build up her strength in a gymnasium sothat she could swing a sledge as well as the next one. She would offerher home in Washington for rent. With the mobs pouring in, it wouldnot be untenanted long. 

Her last expectation was realized first. The morning after she reachedhome she visited Mr. Hailstorks and told him she would sublet hermansion. Now that she wanted to collect rent from it instead of payingrent for it her description of its advantages was inevitably altered. With perfect sincerity she described its very faults as attractions. 

Thereafter her life was made miserable by the calls of people whowanted to look the place over. She had incessant offers, but she wouldnot surrender her nest till she was ready to go back to the shipyard, and that was always to-morrow--the movable to-morrow which like thehorizon is always just beyond. 

She sent herself to school and was dazed by her ignorance. Inarithmetic she had forgotten what she had gained at the age of ten, and it was not easy to recapture it. 

On the typewriter she had to learn the alphabet all over again in anew order, and this was fiendishly hard. She studied the touch-systemwith the keyboard covered, and her blunders were disheartening. Herdeft fingers seemed hardly to be her own. They would not obey her willat all. 

Shorthand was baffling. It took her five times as long to write inshorthand as in longhand such thrilling literature as: "Dearcustomer, --Letter received and contents noted. In reply to same wouldsay--"

At first she was a trifle snobbish and stand-offish with some of thepert young fellow-pupils, but before long her opinion of themincreased to a respect verging on awe. 

They could take dictation, chew gum, and fix their back hair with thefree hand all at once. Their fingers pattered the keyboard like rain, and their letters were exquisitely neat. They had studied for a longtime, and had acquired proficiency. And it is no easy thing to acquireproficiency in any task, from cobbling shoes to polishing sonnets ormoving armies. 

Marie Louise was humiliated to find that she really did not know howto spell some of the simplest words. When she wrote with running penshe never stopped to spell. She just sketched the words and let themgo. She wrote, "I beleive I recieved, " so that nobody could tell _e_from _i_; and she put the dot where it might apply to either. Herpunctuation was all dashes. 

The typewriter would not permit anything vague. A word stood out inits stark reality, howling "Illiterate!" at her. Her punctuationsimply would not do. 

Pert young misses who were honored by a wink from anice-cream-soda-counter keeper or by an invitation to a street-carconductors' dance turned out work of a Grecian perfection, while MarieLouise bit her lips and blushed with shame under the criticisms of herteacher. She was back in school again, the dunce of the class, andabject discouragements alternated with spurts of zeal. 

In the mean while the United States was also learning the rudiments ofwar and the enormous office-practice it required. Before the war wasover the army of 118, 000 men and 5, 000 officers in February, 1917, would be an army of over 3, 000, 000, and of these over 2, 000, 000 wouldhave been carried to Europe, half of them in British ships; 50, 000 ofthese would be killed to Russia's 1, 700, 000 dead, Germany's 1, 600, 000, France's 1, 385, 000, England's 706, 200, Italy's 406, 000, and Belgium's102, 000. The wounded Americans would be three times the total presentarmy. Everybody was ignorant, blunderful. Externally and internallythe United States was as busy as a trampled ant-hill. 

Everything in those days was done in drives. The armies made drives;the financiers made drives; the charities made drives. The world-heartwas never so driven. And this was all on top of the ordinary humansuffering, which did not abate one jot for all its overload. Teethached just as fiercely; jealousy was just as sickly green; empirescrackled; people starved in herds; cities were pounded to gravel; armyafter army was taken prisoner or slaughtered; yet each agitated atomin the chaos was still the center of the tormented universe. 

Marie Louise suffered for mankind and for herself. She was lonely, love-famished, inept, dissatisfied, and abysmally ashamed of hergeneral ineffectiveness. Then one of Washington's infamous hot weekssupervened. In the daytime the heat stung like a cat-o'-nine-tails. The nights were suffocation. She "slept, " gasping as a fish flounderson dry land. After the long strain of fighting for peace, toiling forrest, the mornings would find Marie Louise as wrecked as if she hadcome in from a prolonged spree. Then followed a day of drudgery at theloathly necessities of her stupid work. 

Detail and delay are the tests of ambition. Ambition sees themountain-peak blessed with sunlight and cries, "That is my goal!" Butthe feet must cross every ditch, wade every swamp, scramble acrossevery ledge. The peak is the harder to see the nearer it comes; thelast cliffs hide it altogether, and when it is reached it is only arough crag surrounded by higher crags. The glory that lights it isglory in distant eyes alone. 

So for poor Mamise. She had run away from a squalid home to thegorgeous freedom of stage-life, only to find that the stage also issqualid and slavish, and that the will-o'-the-wisp of gorgeous freedomhad jumped back to home life. She left the cheap theaters for theexpensive luxury of Sir Joseph's mansion. But that had its squalorsand slaveries, too. She had fled from troubled England to joyousAmerica, only to find in America a thousand distresses. 

Then her eyes had been caught with the glitter of true freedom. Shewould be a builder of ships--cast off the restraint of womanhood andbe a magnificent builder of ships! And now she was finding that thisdream was also a nightmare. 

Everywhere she looked was dismay, futility, failure. The hot wavefound her an easy victim. A frightened servant who did not know thedifference between sunstroke and heat prostration nearly killed herbefore a doctor came. 

The doctor sent Marie Louise to bed, and in bed she stayed. It was hertrained nurse who wrote a letter to Mr. Davidge regretting that shecould not come to the launching of the _Clara_. Abbie was not present, either. She came up to be with Marie Louise. This was not the least ofMarie Louise's woes. 

She was quite childish about missing the great event. She wept becauseanother hand swung the netted champagne-bottle against the bow as itlurched down the toboggan-slide. 

Davidge wrote her about the launching, but it was a business man'sletter, with the poetry all smothered. He told her that there hadbeen an accident or two, and nearly a disaster--an unexplodedinfernal-machine had been found. A scheme to wreck the launching-wayshad been detected on the final inspection. 

Marie Louise read the letter aloud to Abbie, and, even though she knewthe ship was safe, trembled as if it were still in jeopardy. Hershaken faith in humanity was still capable of feeling bewilderment atthe extremes of German savagery. She cried out to her sister:

"How on earth can anybody be fiendish enough to have tried to destroythat ship even before it was launched? How could a German spy have gotinto the yard?"

"It didn't have to have been a German, " said Abbie, bitterly. 

"Who else would have wanted to play such a dastardly trick? NoAmerican would!"

"Well, it depends on what you call Amurrican, " said Abbie. "There'ssome them Independent workmen so independent they ain't got anycountry any more 'n what Cain had. "

"You can't suppose that Mr. Davidge has enemies among his ownpeople?"

"O' course he has! Slews of 'em. Some them workmen can't forgive theman that gives 'em a job. "

"But he pays big wages. Think of what Jake gets. "

"Oh, him! If he got all they was, he'd holler he was bein' cheated. Hollerin' and hatin' always come easy to Jake. If they wasn't easy, hewouldn't do 'em. "

Marie Louise gasped: "Abbie! In Heaven's name, you don't imply--"

"No, I don't!" snapped Abbie. "I never implied in my life, and don'tyou go sayin' I did. "

Abbie was at bay now. She had to defend her man from outsidesuspicion. Suspicion of her husband is a wife's prerogative

Marie Louise was too much absorbed in the general vision of man'spotential villainy to follow up the individual clue. She wasfrightened away from considering Jake as a candidate for such infamy. Her wildest imaginings never put him in association with NickyEaston. 

There were so many excursions and alarms in the world of 1917 that theriddle of who tried to sink the ship on dry land joined a myriadothers in the riddle limbo. 

When Marie Louise was well enough to go back to her business schoolshe found riddles enough in trying to decide where this letter or thathad got to on the crazy keyboard, or what squirmy shorthand symbol itwas that represented this syllable or that. 

She had lost the little speed she had had, and it was double drudgeryregaining the forgotten lore. But she stood the gaff and found herselfon the dizzy height of graduation from a lowly business school. Shehad traveled a long way from the snobbery of her recent years. 

Davidge recognized her face and her voice when she presented herselfbefore him. But her soul was an utter stranger. She did not invite himto call on her or warn him that she was coming to call on him. 

She appeared in his anteroom and bribed one of the clerks to go to himwith a message:

"A young lady's outside--wants a position--as a stenogerpher. "

Davidge growled without looking up:

"Why bother me? Send her to the chief clerk. "

"She wants to see you specially. "

"I'm out. "

"Said Miss Webling sent her. "

"O Lord!--show her in. "

Marie Louise entered. Davidge looked up, leaped up. 

She did not come in with the drawing-room, train-dragging manner ofMiss Webling. She did not wear the insolent beauty of Mamise of theMusical Mokes. She was a white-waisted, plain-skirted office-woman, abusinessette. She had a neat little hat and gave him a secretarialbow. 

He rushed to her hand, and they had a good laugh like two childrenplaying pretend. Then he said:

"Why the camouflage?"

The word was not very new even then, or he would not have used it. 

She explained, with royal simplicity:

"I want a job. "

She brought out her diploma and a certificate giving her a civil-servicestatus. She was quite conceited about it. 

She insisted on displaying her accomplishments. 

"Give me some dictation, " she dictated. 

He nodded, pummeled his head for an idea while she took from herhand-bag, not a vanity-case, but a stenographer's notebook and a sheafof pencils. 

He noted that she sat down stenographically--very concisely. Sheperched her notebook on the desk of one crossed knee and perked hereyes up as alertly as a sparrow. 

All this professionalism sat so quaintly on the two Marie Louises hehad known that he roared with laughter as at a child dressed up. 

She smiled patiently at his uproar till it subsided. Then he soberedand began to dictate:

"Ready? 'Miss Mamise'--cross that out--'Miss Marie Louise Webling'--youknow the address; I don't. 'Dear--My dear'--no, just 'Dear MissWebling. Reference is had to your order of recent date that thishouse engage you as amanuensis. ' Dictionary in the bookcaseoutside--comma--no, period. 'In reply I would--I wish to--I beg to--webeg to say that we should--I should just as soon engage Mona Lisa fora stenographer as you. ' Period and paragraph. 

"'We have, '--comma, --'however, '--comma, --'another position to offeryou, '--comma, --'that is, as wife to the senior member of this firm. 'Period. 'The best wages we can--we can offer you are--is the use ofone large, '--comma, --'slightly damaged heart and a million thanks aminute. ' Period. 'Trusting that we may be favored with a prompt andfavorable reply, we am--I are--am--yours very sincerely, trulyyours, '--no, just say 'yours, ' and I'll sign it. By the way, do youknow what the answer will be?"

"Yes. "

"Do you mean it?"

"I mean that I know the answer. "

"Let me have it. "

"Can't you guess?"

"'Yes'?"

"No. "

"Oh!"

A long glum pause till she said, "Am I fired?"

"Of course not. "

More pause. She intervened in his silence. 

"What do I do next, please?"

He said, of habit, "Why, sail on, and on, and on. "

He reached for his basket of unanswered mail. He said:

"I've given you a sample of my style, now you give me a sample ofyours, and then I'll see if I can afford to keep you as a stenographerinstead of a wife. "

She nodded, went to a typewriter in a corner of his office, and seatedherself at the musicless instrument. Her heart pit-a-patted as fast asher fingers, but she drew up the letter in a handsome style while hesat and stared at her and mused upon the strange radiance she broughtinto the office in a kind of aureole. 

He grew abruptly serious when Miss Gabus, his regular stenographer, entered and stared at the interloper with amazement, comma, suspicion, comma, and hostility, period. She murmured a veryrasping "I beg your pardon, " and stepped out, as Marie Louise rosefrom the writing-machine and brought him an extraordinarilyaccurate version of his letter. 

And now he had two women on his hands and one on his heart. He darednot oust Miss Gabus for the sake of Miss Webling. He dared not showhis devotion to Marie Louise, though as a matter of fact it made himglow like a lighthouse. 

He put Mamise to work in the chief clerk's office. It was noted thathe made many more trips to that office than ever before. Instead ofpressing the buzzer for a boy or a stenographer, he usually came outhimself on all sorts of errands. His buzzer did not buzz, but thegossip did. 

Mamise was vaguely aware of it, and it distressed her till she grewfurious. She was so furious at Davidge for not being deft enough toconceal his affection that she began to resent it as an offense andnot a compliment. 

The impossible Mamise insisted on taking up her residence in one ofthe shanties. When he took the liberty of urging her to live at ahotel or at some of the more comfortable homes she snubbed himbluntly. When he desperately urged her to take lunch or dinner withhim she drew herself up and mocked the virtuous scorn of a moviestenographer and said:

"Sir! I may be only a poor typist, but no wicked capitalist shall loorme to lunch with him. You'd probably drug the wine. "

"Then will you--"

"No, I will not go motoring with you. How dare you!"

"May I call, then?"

More as a punishment than a hospitality, she said:

"Yessir--the fourteenth house on the left side of the road is me. "

The days were still long and the dark tardy when he marched up thestreet. It was a gantlet of eyes and whispers. He felt inane to animbecility. The whole village was eying the boss on his way to spark astenog. His little love-affair was as clandestine as Lady Godiva'sfamous bareback ride. 

He cut his call short after an age-long half-hour of enduring theridicule twinkling in Mamise's eyes. He stayed just late enough for itto get dark enough to conceal his return through that street. He wasfurious at the situation and at Mamise for teasing him so. But shebecame all the dearer for her elusiveness. 

CHAPTER IV

After the novelty of the joke wore off Mamise grew as uncomfortable ashe. She was beginning to love him more and her job less. But she wasdetermined not to throw away her independence. Pride was her duenna, and a ruthless one. She tried to feed her pride on her ambition and onan occasional visit to the ship that was to wear her name. 

She met Sutton, the prima donna riveter. He was always clattering awaylike a hungry woodpecker, but he always had time to stop and discusshis art with her. 

Once or twice he let her try the riveter--the "gun, " he called it; buther thumb was not strong enough to hold the trigger against thathundred-and-fifty-pound pressure per square inch. 

One day Marie Louise came on Jake Nuddle and Sutton in a wrangle. Shecaught enough of the parley to know that Jake was sneering at Sutton'swaste of energy and enthusiasm, his long hours and low pay. Suttonearned a very substantial income, but all pay was low pay to Jake, whowas spreading the gospel of sabotage through the shipyard. 

Meanwhile the good ship _Clara_, weaned from the dock, floated in thebasin and received her equipment. And at last the day came when shewas ready for her trial trip. 

That morning the smoke rolled from her funnels in a twisted skein. What had once been ore in many a mine, and trees in many a forest, hadbecome an individual, as what has been vegetables and fruits and theflesh of animals becomes at last a child with a soul, a name, a fate. 

It was impossible to think now that the _Clara_ was merely an iron boxwith an engine to push it about. _Clara_ was somebody, a personality, a lovable, whimsical, powerful creature. She was "she" to everybody. And at last one morning she kicked up her heels and took a long whitebone in her teeth and went her ways. 

The next day _Clara_ came back. There was something about her mannerof sweeping into the bay, about the proud look of her as she came to ahalt, that convinced all the watchers in the shipyard of her success. 

When they learned that she had exceeded all her contract stipulationsthere was a tumult of rejoicing; for her success was the success ofevery man and lad in the company's employ--at least so thought all whohad any instinct of team-play and collective pride. A few soreheadswere glum, or sneered at the enthusiasm of the others. It was strangethat Jake Nuddle was associated with all of these groups. 

_Clara_ was not permitted to linger and rest on her laurels. She hadwork to do. Every ship in the world was working overtime except theGerman Kiel Canal boats. _Clara_ was gone from the view the nextmorning. Mamise missed her as she looked from the office window. Shementioned this to Davidge, for fear he might not know. Somebody mighthave stolen her. He explained:

"She's going down to Norfolk to take on a cargo of food forEngland--wheat for the Allies. I'm glad she's going to takebreadstuffs to people. My mother used to be always going about tohungry folks with a basket of food on her arm. "

Mamise had Jake and Abbie in to dinner that night. She was all agogabout the success of _Clara_, and hoped that _Mamise_ would one day doas well. 

Jake took a sudden interest in the matter. "Did the boss tell youwhere the _Clara_ was goin' to?"

"Yes--Norfolk. "

Jake considered his unmentionable cigar a few minutes, then rose andmumbled:

"Goin' out to get some more cigars. "

Abbie called after him, "Hay, you got a whole half-box left. " But Jakedid not seem to hear the recall. 

He came back later cigarless and asked for the box. 

"I thought you went out to git some, " said Abbie, who felt itnecessary to let no occasion slip for reminding him of some blunder hehad made. Jake laughed very amiably. 

"Well, so I did, and I went into a cigar-store, at that. But I haddatelephone a certain party, long-distance--and I forgot. "

Abbie broke in, "Who you got to long-distance to?"

Jake did not answer. 

Two days later Davidge was so proud that he came out into the mainoffice and told all the clerks of the new distinction. 

"They loaded the _Clara_ in record time with wheat for England. Shesails to-day. "

At his first chance to speak to Marie Louise he said:

"You compared her to Little Red Riding Hood--remember? Well, she'sstarting out through the big woods with a lot of victuals for oldGranny England. If only the wolves don't get her!"

He felt, and Mamise felt, as lonely and as anxious for her as if shewere indeed a little red-bonneted forest-farer on an errand of mercy. 

Ships have always been dear to humankind because of the dangers theyrun and because of the pluck they show in storms and fires, and theunending fights they make against wind and wave. But of late they hadhad unheard-of enemies to meet, the submarine and the infernal machineplaced inside the cargo. 

Marie Louise spoke of this at the supper-table that night:

"To think, with so little food in the world and so many starving todeath, people could sink ships full of wheat!"

On the second day after the _Clara_ set forth on the ocean MarieLouise took dictation for an hour and wrote out her letters as fast asshe could. In the afternoon she took the typewritten transcripts intoDavidge's office to drop them into his "in" basket. 

The telephone rang. His hand went out to it, and she heard him say:

"Mr. Davidge speaking. .. . Hello, Ed. .. . What? You're too close to the'phone. .. . That's better. .. . You're too far away--start all over. .. . Idon't get that. .. . Yes--a life-boat picked up with what--oh, sixsurvivors. Yes--from what ship? I say, six survivors from whatship?. .. The _Clara_? She's gone? _Clara_?"

He reeled and wavered in his chair. "What happened--many lost? And theboat--cargo--everything--everybody but those six! They got her, then!The Germans got her--on her first voyage! God damn their guts!Good-by, Ed. "

He seemed to be calm, but the hand that held up the receiver gropedfor the hook with a pitiful blind man's gesture. 

Mamise could not resist that blundering helplessness. She ran forwardand took his hand and set the receiver in place. 

He was too numb to thank her, but he was grateful. His mother wasdead. The ship he had named for her was dead. He needed mothering. 

Mamise put her hands on his shoulders and gripped them as if to holdthem together under their burden. She said:

"I heard. I can't tell you how-- Oh, what can we do in such a world!"

He laughed foolishly and said, with a stumbling voice:

"I'll get a German for this--somehow!"

CHAPTER V

Mamise shuddered when she heard the blood-cry wrung out of Davidge'sagony. 

She knew that the ship was more than a ship to him. Its death was asthe death of many children. It might mean the death of many children. She stood over him, weeping for him like another Niobe among herslaughtered family. The business man in his tragedy had to have somewoman at hand to do his weeping for him. He did not know how to sobhis own heart out. 

She felt the vigor of a high anger grip his muscles. When she heardhim groan, "I'll get a German for this!" somehow it horrified her, coming from him; yet it was becoming the watchword of the wholenation. 

America had stood by for three years feeding Europe's hungry andselling munitions to the only ones that could come and get them. America had been forced into the war by the idiotic ingenuities of theGermans, who kept frustrating all their own achievements, the cruelones thwarting the clever ones; the liars undermining the fighters;the wise, who knew so much, not knowing the first thing--that torturenever succeeded, that a reputation for broken faith is the mostexpensive of all reputations, that a policy of terror and trickery andmegalomania can accomplish nothing but its own eventual ruin. 

America was aroused at last. The German rhinoceros in its blindcharges had wakened and enraged the mammoth. A need for German bloodwas the frank and undeniable passion of the American Republic. To killenough Germans fast enough to crush them and their power and theirglory was the acknowledged business of the United States until furthernotice. 

The strangest people were voicing this demand. Preachers werethundering it across their pulpits, professors across their desks, women across their cradles, pacifists across their shattered dreams, business men across their counters, "Kill Germans!"

It was a frightful crusade; yet who was to blame for it but theGermans and their own self-advertised frightfulness? The world wasfighting for its life and health against a plague, a new outrush fromthat new plague-spot whence so many floods of barbarism had brokenover civilization. 

They came forth now in gray streams like the torrent of rats thatpursued the wicked Bishop Hatto to his tower. Only the world was notBishop Hatto, and it did not flee. It gathered to one vast circularbattle, killing and killing rats upon rats in a frenzy of loathingthat grew with the butchery. 

Countless citizens of German origin fought and died with theAmericans, but nobody thought of them as Germans now, and least of alldid they so think of themselves. In the mind of the Allied nations, German and vermin were linked in rhyme and reason. 

It may be unjust and unsympathetic, but the very best people feel it aduty to destroy microbes, insects, and beasts of prey without mercy. The Germans themselves had proclaimed their own nature with pride. Peaceful Belgium--invaded, burned, butchered, ravished, dismantled, mulcted, deported, enslaved--was the first sample of German work. 

Davidge had hated Germany's part in the war from the first, for theworld's sake, for the sake of the little nations trampled and starvedand the big nations thrown into desperation, and for the insolence andomnipresence of the German menace--for the land filled with graves, the sea with ships, the air with indiscriminate slaughter. 

Now it had come straight home to himself. His own ship was assassinated;the hill of wheat she carried had been spilled into the sterile sea. Nearly all of her crew had been murdered or drowned. He had ablood-feud of his own with Germany. 

He was startled to find Mamise recoiling from him. He looked at herwith a sudden demand:

"Does it shock you to have me hate 'em?"

"No! No, indeed!" she cried. "I wasn't thinking of them, but of you. Inever saw you before like this. You scared me a little. I didn't knowyou could be so angry. "

"I'm not half as angry as I'd like to be. Don't you abominate 'em, too?"

"Oh yes--I wish that Germany were one big ship and all the Germans onboard, and I had a torpedo big enough to blast them all to--where theybelong. "

This wish seemed to him to prove a sufficient lack of affection forthe Germans, and he added, "Amen!" with a little nervous reaction intouncouth laughter. 

But this was only another form of his anguish. At such times thedistraught soul seems to have need of all its emotions and expressions, and to run among them like a frantic child. 

Davidge's next mood was a passionate regret for the crew, the deadengineers and sailors shattered and blasted and cast into the sea, thesufferings of the little squad that escaped into a life-boat withoutwater or provisions or shelter from the sun and the lashing spray. 

Then he pictured the misery of hunger that the ship's cargo would haverelieved. He had been reading much of late of the Armenian--what wordor words could name that woe so multitudinous that, like the number ofthe stars, the mind refused to attempt its comprehension?

He saw one of those writhing columns winding through a rockywilderness--old crones knocked aside to shrivel with famine, babieswithering like blistered flowers from the flattened breasts of theirmothers dying with hunger, fatigue, blows, violation, and despair. Hethought of Poland childless and beyond pity; of the Serbian shambles. The talons of hunger a millionfold clutched him, and he groanedaloud:

"If they'd only stolen my wheat and given it to somebody--to anybody!But to pour it into the sea!"

He could not linger in that slough and stay sane. His struggling soulbroke loose from the depths and hunted safety in self-ridicule:

"I might better have left the wheat at home and never have built thefool ship. "

He began to laugh again, an imbecile ironic cachinnation. 

"The blithering idiot I've been! To go and work and work and work, anddrive my men and all the machinery for months and months to make aship and put in the engines and send it down and load it, and all forsome"--a gesture expressed his unspeakable thought--"of a German toblow it to hell and gone, with a little clock-bomb in one second!"

In his abysmal discouragement his ideals were all topsy-turvy. Heburlesqued his own religion as the most earnest constantly do, for weall revolve around ourselves as well as our suns. 

"What's the use, " he maundered--"what's the use of trying to doanything while they're alive and at work right here in our country?They're everywhere! They swarm like cockroaches out of every hole assoon as the light gets low! We've got to blister 'em all to death withrough-on-rats before we can build anything that will last. There's nostopping them without wiping 'em off the earth. "

She did not argue with him. At such times people do not want argumentsor good counsel or correction. They want somebody to stand by in mutefellowship to watch and listen and suffer, too. So Mamise helpedDavidge through that ordeal. He turned from rage at the Germans tocontempt for himself. 

"It's time I quit out of this and went to work with the army. It makesme sick to be here making ships for Germans to sink. The thing to dois to kill the Germans first and build the ships when the sea is safefor humanity. I'm ashamed of myself sitting in an office shooting witha telephone and giving out plans and contracts and paying wages to agang of mechanics. It's me for a rifle and a bayonet. "

Mamise had to oppose this:

"Who's going to get you soldiers across the sea or feed you when youget there if all the ship-builders turn soldier?"

"Let somebody else do it. "

"But who can do it as well as you can? The Germans said that Americacould never put an army across or feed it if she got it there. If yougo on strike you'll prove the truth of that. "

Then she began to chant his own song to him. A man likes to hear hisnobler words recalled. Here is one of the best resources a woman has. Mamise was speaking for him as well as for herself when she said:

"Oh, I remember how you thrilled me with your talk of all the shipsyou would build. You said it was the greatest poem ever written, theidea of making ships faster than the Germans could sink them. It wasthat that made me want to be a ship-builder. It was the first bigambition I ever had. And now you tell me it's useless and foolish!"

He saw the point without further pressure. 

"You're right, " he said. "My job's here. It would be selfish and showyto knock off this work and grab a gun. I'll stick. It's hard, though, to settle down here when everybody else is bound for France. "

Mamise was one of those unusual wise persons who do not continue toargue a case that has already been won. She added only the warmpersonal note to help out the cold generality. 

"There's my ship to finish, you know. You couldn't leave poor _Mamise_out there on the stocks unfinished. "

The personal note was so warm that he reached out for her. He neededher in his arms. He caught her roughly to him and knew for the firsttime the feel of her body against his, the sweet compliance of herform to his embrace. 

But there was an anachronism to her in the contact. She was in one ofthose moods of exaltation, of impersonal nationalism, that women wererising to more and more as a new religion. She was feeling terriblyAmerican, and, though she had no anger for him and saw no insult inhis violence, she seemed to be above and beyond mere hugging andkissing. She was in a Joan of Arc humor, so she put his hands away, yet squeezed them with fervor, for she knew that she had saved himfrom himself and to himself. She had brought him back to his eastagain, and the morning is always wonderful. 

She had renewed his courage, however, so greatly that he did notdespair of her. He merely postponed her, as people were postponingeverything beautiful and lovable "for the duration of the war. "

He reached for the buzzer. Already Mamise heard its rattlesnakeclatter. But his hand paused and went to hers as he stammered:

"We've gone through this together, and you've helped me--I can't tellyou how much, honey. Only, I hope we can go through a lot more troubletogether. There's plenty of it ahead. "

She felt proud and meek and dismally happy. She squeezed his big handagain in both of hers and sighed, with a smile:

"I hope so. "

Then he pressed the buzzer, and Miss Gabus was inside the door withsuspicious promptitude. Davidge said:

"Mr. Avery, please--and the others--all the others right away. Askthem to come here; and you might come back, Miss Gabus. "

Mr. Avery, the chief clerk, and other clerks and stenographers, gathered, wondering what was about to happen. Some of them camegrinning, for when they had asked Miss Gabus what was up she hadguessed: "I reckon he's goin' to announce his engagement. "

The office force came in like an ill-drilled comic-opera chorus. Davidge waited till the last-comer was waiting. Then he said:

"Folks, I've just had bad news. The _Clara_--they got her! The Germansgot her. She was blown up by a bomb. She was two days out and goinglike a greyhound when she sank with all on board except six of thecrew who got away in a life-boat and were picked up by a tramp. "

There was a shock of silence, then a hubbub of gasps, oaths, ofincredulous protests. 

Miss Gabus was the first to address Davidge:

"My Gawd! Mr. Davidge, what you goin' to do about it?"

They thought him a man of iron when he said, quietly:

"We'll build some more ships. And if they sink those we'll--build somemore. "

He was a man of iron, but iron can bend and break and melt, and so cansteel. Yet there is a renewal of strength, and, thanks to Mamise, Davidge was recalled to himself, though he was too shrewd or tootactful to give her the credit for redeeming him. 

His resolute words gave the office people back to their owncharacters or their own reactions and their first phrases. Eachhad something to say. One, "She was such a pretty boat!" another, "Wasshe insured, d'you suppose?" a third, a fourth, and the rest: "Thepoor engineer--and the sailors!" "All that work for nothin'!" "Themoney she cost!" "The Belgians could 'a' used that wheat!" "ThoseGermans! Is there anything they won't do?"

The chief clerk shepherded them back to their tasks. Davidge took upthe telephone to ask for more steel. Mamise renewed the cheerful_rap-rap-rap_ of her typewriter. 

The shock that struck the office had yet to rush through the yard. There was no lack of messengers to go among the men with the bad wordthat the first of the Davidge ships had been destroyed. It was apersonal loss to nearly everybody, as it had been to Davidge, fornearly everybody had put some of his soul and some of his sweat intothat slow and painful structure so instantly annulled. The mockery ofthe wasted toil embittered every one. The wrath of the workers wasboth loud and ferocious. 

Jake Nuddle was one of the few who did not revile the German plague. He was not in the least excited over the dead sailors. They did notbelong to his union. Besides, Jake did not love work or the things itmade. He claimed to love the workers and the money they made. 

He was tactless enough to say to a furious orator:

"Ah, what's it to you? The more ships the Germans sink the more yougot to build and the more they'll have to pay you. If Davidge goesbroke, so much the better. The sooner we bust these capitalists thesooner the workin'-man gets his rights. "

The orator retorted: "This is war-times. We got to make ships to winthe war. "

Jake laughed. "Whose war is it? The capitalists'. You're fightin' forMorgan and Rockefeller to save their investments and to help 'em togrind you into the dirt. England and France and America are allland-grabbers. They're no better 'n Germany. "

The workers wanted a scapegoat, and Jake unwittingly volunteered. Theywelcomed him with a bloodthirsty roar. They called him vigorousshipyard names and struck at him. He backed off. They followed. Hemade a crucial mistake; he whirled and ran. They ran after him. Someof them threw hammers and bolts. Some of these struck him as he fled. Workmen ahead of him were roused by the noise and headed him off. 

He darted through an opening in the side of the _Mamise_. The crowdfollowed him, chased him out on an upper deck. 

"Throw him overboard! Kill him!" they shouted. 

He took refuge behind Sutton the riveter, whose gun had made suchnoise that he had heard none of the clamor. Seeing Jake's white faceand the mark of a thrown monkey-wrench on his brow, Sutton shut offthe compressed air and confronted the pursuers. He was naked to thewaist, and he had no weapon, but he held them at bay while hedemanded:

"What's the big idea? What you playin'? Puss in a corner? How many ofyous guys does it take to lick this one gink?"

A burly patriot, who forgot that his name and his accent wereTeutonic, roared:

"Der sneagin' Sohn off a peach ain't sorry _die Clara_ is by dose tamChermans _gesunken_!"

"What!" Sutton howled. "The _Clara_ sunk? Whatya mean--sunk?"

Bohlmann told him. Sutton wavered. He had driven thousands of rivetsinto the frame of the ship, and a little explosive had opened all theseams and ended her days! When at last he understood the _Clara's_fate and Nuddle's comments he turned to Jake with baleful calm:

"And you thought it was good business, did you? And these fellerswas thinkin' about lynchin' you, was they? Well, they're allwrong--they're all wrong: we'd ought to save lynchin' for realguys. What you need is somethin' like--this!"

His terrific fist lashed out and caught Jake in the right eye. Jake ina daze of indignation and amazement went over backward; his headstruck the steel deck, and his soul went out. When it came back he laystill for a while, pretending to be unconscious until the gang haddispersed, satisfied, and Sutton was making ready to begin rivetingagain. Then he picked himself up and edged round Sutton, growling:

"I'll fix you for this, you--"

Sutton did not wait to learn what Jake was going to call him. His bigfoot described an upward arc, and Jake a parabola, ending in a dropthat almost took him through an open hatch into the depth of the hold. He saved himself, peering over the edge, too weak for words--hunchedback, crawled around the steel abyss, and betook himself to a safehiding-place under the tank-top till the siren should blow anddisperse his enemies. 

CHAPTER VI

The office force left pretty promptly on the hour. When Mamise notedthat desks were being cleared for inaction she began mechanically toconform. Then she paused. 

On other afternoons she had gone home with the crowd of employees, tooweary with office routine to be discontent. But now she thought ofDavidge left alone in his office to brood over his lost ship, thebrutal mockery of such loving toil. It seemed heartless to her as hisfriend to desert him in the depths. But as one of his stenographers, it would look shameless to hang round with the boss. She shifted fromfoot to foot and from resolve to resolve. 

Their relations were undergoing as many strains and stresses as aship's frame in the various waves and weathers that confront it. Shehad picked up some knowledge of the amazing twists a ship encountersat rest and in motion--stresses in still water, with cargo andwithout, hogging and sagging stresses, seesaw strains, tensile, compressive, transverse, racking, pounding; bumps, blows, collisions, oscillations, running aground--stresses that crumpled steel orscissored the rivets in two. 

It was hard to foresee the critical stress that should mean life ordeath to the ship and its people. Some went humbly forth and came homewith rich cargo; some steamed out in pride and never came back; somelimped in from the sea racked and ruined; some ran stupidly ashore infogs; some fought indomitably through incredible tempests. Some dieddramatic deaths on cliffs where tidal waves hammered them to shreds;some turned turtle at their docks and went down in the mud. Some ledlong and honorable lives, and others, beginning with glory, degenerated into cattle-ships or coastal tramps. 

People were but ships and bound for as many destinations anddestinies. Their fates depended as much and yet as little on theirpilots and engineers, their engines and their frames. The test of theship and of the person was the daily drudgery and the unforeseenemergency. 

Davidge believed in preliminary tests of people and boats. Beforehe hired a man or trusted a partner he inquired into his pastperformances. He had been unable to insist on investigation in therecent mad scramble for labor due to the sudden withdrawal into thenational army of nearly every male between twenty-one and thirty-oneand of hundreds of thousands of volunteers of other ages. 

He had given his heart to Marie Louise Webling, of whom he knew littleexcept that she would not tell him much. And on her dubious voucher hehad taken Jake Nuddle into his employ. Now he had to accept them as hehad to accept steel, taking it as it came and being glad to get any atall. 

Hitherto he had insisted on preliminary proofs. He wanted no steel ina ship's hull or in any part of her that had not behaved well in theshop tests, in the various machines that put the metal under bendingstress, cross-breaking, hammering, drifting, shearing, elongation, contraction, compression, deflection, tension, and torsion stresses. The best of the steels had their elastic limits; there was none thatdid not finally snap. 

Once this point was found, the individual metal was placed accordingto its quality, the responsibility imposed on it being only a tenth ofits proved capacity. That ought to have been enough of a margin ofsafety. Yet it did not prevent disasters. 

People could not always be put to such shop tests beforehand. Areference or two, a snap judgment based on first impressions, ushereda man or a woman into a place where weakness or malice could doincalculable harm. In every institution, as in every structure, thesedanger-spots exist. Davidge, for all his care and knowledge of people, could only take the best he could get. 

Jake Nuddle had got past the sentry-line with ludicrous ease and hadcontrived already the ruin of one ship. His program, which includedall the others, had had a little setback, but he could easily regainhis lost ground, for the mob had vented its rage against him and wasappeased. 

Mamise was inside the sentry-lines, too, both of Davidge's shop andhis heart. Her purposes were loyal, but she was drifting toward asupreme stress that should try her inmost fiber. And at the moment shefelt an almost unbearable strain in the petty decision of whether togo with the clerks or stop with the boss. 

Mamise was not so much afraid of what the clerks would say of her. Itwas Davidge that she was protecting. She did not want to have themtalking about him--as if anything could have stopped them from that!

While she debated between being unselfish enough to leave himunconsoled and being selfish enough to stay, she spent so much timethat the outer office was empty, anyway. 

Seeing herself alone, she made a quick motion toward the door. MissGabus came out, stared violently, and said:

"Was you goin' in?"

"No--oh no!" said Mamise. "I left something in my desk. "

She opened her desk, took out a pencil-nub and hurried away, ostentatiously passing the other clerks as they struggled across theyard to the gate. 

She walked to her shanty and found it all pins and needles. She was sodesperate that she went to see her sister. 

Marie Louise found Abbie in her kitchen, sewing buttons on theextremely personal property of certain bachelors whom she washed forin spite of Jake's high earnings--from which she benefited no morethan before. If Jake had come into a million, or shattered the worldto bits and then rebuilt it nearer to his heart's desire, he would nothave had enough to make much difference to Abbie. Mamise had made manyhandsome presents to Abbie, but somehow they vanished, or at least gotAbbie no farther along the road to contentment or grace. 

Mamise was full of the story of the disaster to the _Clara_. She drewAbbie into the living-room away from the children, who were playing inthe kitchen because it was full of the savor of the forthcomingsupper. 

"Abbie dear, have you heard the news?"

Abbie gasped, "Oh God, is anything happened to Jake--killed orarrested or anything?"

"No, no--but _Clara_--the _Clara_--"

"Clara who?"

"The ship, the first ship we built, she's destroyed. "

"For the land's sake! I want to know! Well, what you know aboutthat!"

Abbie could not rise to very lofty heights of emotion or language overanything impersonal. She made hardly so much noise over this tragedyas a hen does over the delivery of an egg. 

Mamise was distressed by her stolidity. She understood with regret whyJake did not find Abbie an ideal inspirational companion. She hated tothink well of Jake or ill of her sister, but one cannot help receivingimpressions. 

She did her best to stimulate Abbie to a decent warmth, but Abbie wasas immune to such appeals as those people were who were stillwondering why America went to war with Germany. 

Abbie was entirely perfunctory in her responses to Mamise's picturesof the atrocity. She grew really indignant when she looked at theclock and saw that Jake was late to dinner. She broke in on Mamise'sexcitement with a distressful:

"And we got steak 'n' cab'ge for supper. "

"I must hurry back to my own shack, " said Mamise, rising. 

"You stay right where you are. You're goin' to eat with us. "

"Not to-night, thanks, dear. "

She kept no servant of her own. She enjoyed the circumstance ofgetting her meals. She was camping out in her shanty. To-night shewanted to be busy about something especially about a kitchen--themachine-shop of the woman who wants to be puttering at something. 

She was dismally lonely, but she was not equal to a supper at Jake's. She would have liked a few children of her own, but she was glad thatshe did not own the Nuddle children, especially the elder two. 

The Nuddles had given three hostages to Fortune. Jake cared littlewhether Fortune kept the hostages or not, or whether or not shetreated them as the Germans treated Belgian hostages. 

Little Sister was the oldest of the trio completed by Little Brotherand a middle-sized bear named Sam. Sis and Sam were juvenileanarchists born with those gifts of mischief, envy, indolence, anddenunciation that Jake and the literary press-agents of the samespirit flattered as philosophy or even as philanthropy. LittleBrother was a quiet, patient gnome with quaint instincts of industryand accumulation. He was always at work at something. His mud-piebakery was famous for two blocks. He gathered bright pebbles andshells. In the marble season he was a plutocrat in taws and agates. Being always busy, he always had time to do more things. He evenvolunteered to help his mother. When he got an occasional penny hehoarded it in hiding. He had need to, for Sam borrowed what he couldand stole what he could not wheedle. 

Little Brother was not stingy, but he saved; he bought his motherpetty gifts once in a while when he had enough to pay for something. 

Little Sister and Sam were capable in emotional crises of sympathy orhatred to express themselves volubly. Little Brother had no gifts ofspeech. He made gifts of pebbles or of money awkwardly, shyly, withfew words. Mamise, as she tried to extricate herself from Abbie'slassoing hospitality, paused in the door and studied the children, contrasting them with the Webling grandchildren who had been born withgold spoons in their mouths and somebody to take them out, fill them, and put them in again. But luxury seemed to make small difference incharacter. 

She mused upon the three strange beings that had come into the worldas a result of the chance union of Jake and Abbie. Without that theywould never have existed and the world would have never known thedifference, nor would they. 

Sis and Sam were quarreling vigorously. Little Brother was silent uponthe hearth. He had collected from the gutter many small stones andsticks. They were treasures to him and he was as important about themas a miser about his shekels. Again and again he counted them, takinga pleasure in their arithmetic. Already he was advanced in mathematicsbeyond the others and he loved to arrange his wealth for the sheerdelight of arrangement; orderliness was an instinct with him already. 

For a time Mamise noted how solemnly he kept at work, building a littlestone house and painfully making it stand. He was a home-builderalready. 

Sam had paid no heed to the work. But, wondering what Mamise waslooking at, he turned and saw his brother. A grin stretched hismouth. Little Brother grew anxious. He knew that when something he hadbuilded interested Sam its doom was close. 

"Whass 'at?" said Sam. 

"None yer business, " said Little Brother, as spunky as Belgium beforethe Kaiser. 

"'S'ouse, ain't it?"

"You lea' me 'lone, now!"

"Where d'you git it at?"

"I built it. "

"Gimme't!"

"You build you one for your own self now. "

"'At one's good enough for me. "

"Maw! You make Sam lea' my youse alone. "

Mrs. Nuddle moaned: "Sammie, don't bother Little Brother now. You goon about your own business. "

Smash! splash! Sam had kicked the house into ruins with the side ofhis foot. 

Mamise was so angry that before she knew it she had darted at him andsmacked him with violence. Instantly she was ashamed of herself. Sambegan to rub his face and yowl:

"Maw, she gimme a swipe in the snoot! She hurt me, so she did. "

Mamise was disgusted. Abbie appeared at the door equally disgusted; itwas intolerable that any one should slap her children but herself. Shehad accepted too much of Mamise's money to be very indignant, but shedid rise to a wail:

"Seems to me, Mamise, you might keep your hands off my childern. "

"I'm sorry. I forgot myself. But Sam is so like his father I justcouldn't help taking a whack at him. The little bully knocked over hisbrother's house just to hear it fall. When he grows up he'll be justas much of a nuisance as Jake and he'll call it syndicalism orinternationalism or something, just as Jake does. "

Jake came in on the scene. He brought home his black eye and a whitestory. 

When Abbie gasped, "What on earth's the matter?" he growled: "I bumpedinto a girder. Whatya s'pose?"

Abbie accepted the eye as a fact and the story as a fiction, but sheknew that, however Jake stood in the yard, as a pugilist he was thehome champion. 

She called Little Sister to bring from the ice-box a slice of thesteak she had bought for dinner. On the high wages Jake wasearning--or at least receiving--the family was eating high. 

Little Sister told her brother Sam, "It's a shame to waste good meaton his old black lamp. " And Sam's regret was, "I wisht I'd 'a' gave itto um. "

Little Sister knew better than to let her father hear any of this, butit was only another cruel evidence that great lovers of the publicwelfare are apt to be harshly regarded at home. It is too much toexpect that one who tenderly considers mankind in the mass should havetime to be kind to them in particular. 

Jake was not even appreciated by Mamise, whom he did appreciate. Everytime he praised her looks or her swell clothes she acted as if he madeher mad. 

To-night when he found her at the house her first gush of anxiety forhim was followed by a remark of singular heartlessness:

"But, oh, did you hear of the destruction of the _Clara_?"

"Yes, I heard of the destruction of the _Clara_, " he echoed, with asneer. "If I had my way the whole rotten fleet would follow her to thebottom of the ocean!"

"Why, Jake!" was Abbie's best. 

Jake went on: "And it will, too, or I'm a liar. The Germans will getthem boats as fast as they build 'em. " He laughed. "I tell you themKaiser-boys just eats ships. "

"But how were they able to destroy the _Clara_?" Mamise demanded. 

"Easiest thing you know. When she laid up at Norfolk they just put abomb into her. "

"But how did they know she was going to Norfolk to load?"

"Oh, we--they have ways. "

The little slip from "we" to "they" caught Mamise's ear. Her firstintuition of its meaning was right, and out of her amazement the firstwords that leaped were:

"Poor Abbie!"

Thought, like lightning, breaks through the air in a quick slash fromcloud to ground. Mamise's whole thought was from zig to zag in somesuch procedure as this, but infinitely swift. 

"We--they? That means that Jake considers himself a part of the Germanorganization for destruction, the will to ruin. That means that Jakemust have been involved in the wreck of the _Clara_. That means thathe deliberately connived at a crime against his country. That meansthat he is a traitor as well as a murderer. That means that my sisteris the wife of a fiend. Poor Abbie!"

This thought stunned and blinded Mamise a long moment. She heard Jakegrumbling:

"What ya mean--'poor Abbie!'?"

Mamise was afraid to say. She cast one glance at Jake, and thelightning of understanding struck him. He realized what she wasthinking--or at least he suspected it, because he was thinking of hisown past. He was realizing that he had met Nicky Easton throughMamise, though Mamise did not know this--that is, he hoped she didnot. And yet perhaps she did. 

And now Mamise and Jake were mutually afraid of each other. Abbiewas altogether in the dark, and a little jealous of Mamise andher peculiar secrets, but her general mood was one of stolidthoughtlessness. 

Jake, suspecting Mamise's suspicion of him, was moved to justifyhimself by one of his tirades against society in general. Abbie, whohad about as much confidence in the world as an old rabbit in a doggycountry, had heard Jake thunder so often that his denunciations hadbecome as vaguely lulling as a continual surf. Generalizations meantnothing to her bovine soul. She was thinking of something else, usually, throughout all the fiery Jakiads. While he indicted wholenations and denounced all success as a crime against unsuccess she washunting through her work-basket for a good thread to patch Sam's pantswith. 

Abbie was unmoved, but Mamise was appalled. It was her first encounterwith the abysmal hatred of which some of these loud lovers of mankindare capable. Jake's theories had been merely absurd or annoyingbefore, but now they grew monstrous, for they seemed to be confirmedby an actual crime. 

Mamise felt that she must escape from the presence of Jake or attackhim. She despised him too well to argue with him, and she rose to go. 

Abbie pleaded with her in vain to stay to supper. She would not bepersuaded. She walked to her own bungalow and cooked herself a littlemeal of her own. She felt stained once more with vicarious guilt, andwondered what she had done so to be pursued and lassoed by the crimesof others. 

She remembered that she had lost her chance to clear herself of SirJoseph Webling's guilt by keeping his secret. If she had gone to theBritish authorities with her first suspicion of Sir Joseph and NickyEaston she would have escaped from sharing their guilt. She wouldhave been branded as an informer, but only by the conspirators; andSir Joseph himself and Lady Webling might have been saved fromself-destruction. 

Now she was in the same situation almost exactly. Again she had onlysuspicion for her guide. But in England she had been a foreigner andSir Joseph was her benefactor. Here she was in her own country, andshe owed nothing to Jake Nuddle, who was a low brute, as ruthless tohis wife as to his flag. 

It came to Mamise with a sharp suddenness that her one clear duty wasto tell Davidge what she knew about Jake. It was not a pretty duty, but it was a definite. She resolved that the first thing she did inthe morning would be to go to Davidge with what facts she had. Theresolution brought her peace, and she sat down to her meager supperwith a sense of pleasant righteousness. 

Mamise felt so redeemed that she took up a novel, lighted a cigarette, and sat down by her lamp to pass a well-earned evening of spinsterialrespectability. Then the door opened and Abbie walked in. Abbie didnot think it sisterly to knock. She paused to register her formalprotest against Mamise's wicked addiction to tobacco. 

"I must say, Mamise, I do wisht you'd break yourself of that horbulhabbut. "

Mamise laughed tolerantly. "You were cooking cabbage when I was atyour house. Why can't I cook this vegetable?"

"But I wa'n't cooking the cabbage in my face. "

"You were cooking it in mine. But let's not argue about botany orethics. "

Abbie was not aware of mentioning either of those things, but she hadother matters to discuss. She dropped into a chair, sighing:

"Jake's went out to telephone, and I thought I'd just run over for afew words. You see, I--"

"Where was Jake telephoning?"

"I d'know. He's always long-distancin' somebody. But what I comefor--"

"Doesn't it ever occur to you to wonder?"

"Long as it ain't some woman--or if it is, as long as it's longdistance--why should I worry my head about it? The thing I wanted tospeak of is--"

"Didn't it rather make your blood run cold to hear Jake speak as hedid of the lost ship?"

"Oh, I'm so used to his rantin' it goes in one ear and out theother. "

"You'd better keep a little of it in your brain. I'm worried aboutyour husband, even if you're not, Abbie dear. "

"What call you got to worry?"

"I have a ghastly feeling that my brother-in-law is mixed up in thesinking of the _Clara_. "

"Don't be foolish!"

"I'm trying not to be. But do you remember the night I told you boththat the _Clara_ was going to Norfolk to take on her cargo? Well, hewent out to get cigars, though he had a lot, and he let it slip thathe had been talking on the long-distance telephone. When the _Clara_is sunk, he is not surprised. He says, 'We--they have ways. ' Heprophesies the sinking of all the ships Mr. Davidge--"

Abbie seized this name as a weapon of self-defense and mate-defense. 

"Oh, you're speakin' for Mr. Davidge now. "

"Perhaps. He's my employer, and Jake's, too. I feel under someobligations to him, even though Jake doesn't. I feel some obligationsto the United States, and Jake doesn't. I distrust and abhor Germany, and Jake likes her as well as he does us. The background is perfect. When such crimes are being done as Germany keeps doing, condoning themis as bad as committing them. "

"Big words!" sniffed Abbie. "Can't you talk United States?"

"All right, my dear. I say that since Jake is glad the _Clara_ wassunk and hopes that more ships will be sunk, he is as bad as the menthat sank her. And what's more, I have made up my mind that Jakehelped to sink her, and that he works in this yard simply for a chanceto sink more ships. Do you get those words of one syllable?"

"No, " said Abbie. Ideas of one syllable are as hard to grasp as wordsof many. "I don't know what you're drivin' at a tall. "

"Poor Abbie!" sighed Mamise. "Dream on, if you want to. But I'm goingto tell Mr. Davidge to keep a watch on Jake. I'm going to warn himthat Jake is probably mixed up in the sinking of that beautiful shiphe named after his mother. "

Even Abbie could not miss the frightful meaning of this. She was oneof those who never trust experience, one of those who think that, inspite of all the horrible facts of the past, horrible things areimpossible in the future. Higher types of the same mind had gone aboutsaying that war was impossible, later insisting that it was impossiblethat the United States should be dragged into this war because it wasso horrible, and next averring that since this war was so horriblethere could never be another. 

Even Abbie could imagine what would happen if Mamise denounced Jake asan accomplice in the sinking of the Clara. It would be so terriblethat it must be impossible. The proof that Jake was innocent was thethought of what would happen to him and to her and their children ifhe were found guilty. She summed it all up in a phrase:

"Mamise, you're plumb crazy!"

"I hope so, but I'm also crazy enough to put Mr. Davidge on hisguard. "

"And have him fire Jake, or get him arrested?"

"Perhaps. "

"Ain't you got any sense of decency or dooty a tall?"

"I'm trying to find out. "

"Well, I always knew a woman who'd smoke cigarettes would doanything. "

"I'll do this. "

"O' course you won't; but if you did, I'd--why, I'd--why, I just don'tknow what I'd do. "

"Would you give up Jake?"

"Give up Jake? Divorce him or something?"

Mamise nodded. 

Abbie gasped: "Why, you're positively immor'l! Posi-_tive_-ly! He'sthe father of my childern! I'll stick to Jake through thick andthin. "

"Through treason and murder, too? You were an American, you know, before you ever met him. And I was an American before he became mybrother-in-law. And I don't intend to let him make me a partner in hisguilt just because he made you give him a few children. "

"I won't listen to another word, " cried Abbie. "You're too indecent totalk to. " And she slammed the door after her. 

"Poor Abbie!" said Mamise, and closed her book, rubbed the light outof her cigarette, and went to bed. 

But not to sleep. Abbie had not argued well, but sometimes that isbest for the arguments, for then the judge becomes their attorney. Mamise tossed on a grid of perplexities. Neither her mind nor her bodycould find comfort. 

She rose early to escape her thoughts. It was a cold, raw morning, andAbbie came dashing through the drizzle with her shawl over her headand her cheeks besprent with tears and rain. She flung herself onMamise and sobbed:

"I ain't slep' a wink all night. I been thinkin' of Jake and thechildern. I was mad at you last night, but I'm sorry for what I said. You're my own sister--all I got in the world besides the threechildern. And I'm all you got, and I know it ain't in you to go andsend the father o' my childern to jail and ruin my life. I've had ahard life, and so've you, Mamise honey, but we got to be friends andlove one another, for we're all that's left of our fambly, and itcouldn't be that one sister would drive the other to distraction anddrag the family name in the mud. It couldn't be, could it, Mamise?Tell me you was only teasin' me! I didn't mean what I said last nightabout you bein' indecent, and you didn't mean what you said aboutJake, did you, Mamise? Say you didn't, or I'll just die right here. "

She had left the door open, and a gust of windy rain came lashing in. The world outside was cold and wet, and Abbie was warm and afraid andirresistibly pitiful. 

Mamise could only hug and kiss her and say:

"I'll see! I'll see!"

When people do not know what their chief mysteries, themselves, willdo they say, "I'll see. "

Mamise thought of Davidge, and she could not promise to leave him inignorance of the menace imminent above him. But when at last she toreherself from Abbie's clutching hands and hurried away to the officeshe looked back and saw Abbie out in the rain, staring after her interror and shaking her head helplessly. She could not promise herselfthat she would tell Davidge. 

CHAPTER VII

She reached the office late in spite of her early start. Davidge hadgone. He had gone to Pittsburgh to try to plead for more steel formore ships. 

The head clerk told her this. He was in an ugly mood, sarcastic aboutMamise's tardiness, and bitter with the knowledge that all the work ofbuilding another _Clara_ had to be carried through with its endlessdetail and the chance of the same futility. He was as sick about it asa Carlyle who must rewrite a burned-up history, an Audubon who mustrepaint all his pictures. 

Davidge had left no good-by for Mamise. This hurt her. She wished thatshe had stopped to tell him good night the afternoon before. 

In his prolonged absence Mamise wondered if he were really inPittsburgh or in Washington with Lady Clifton-Wyatt. She experiencedthe first luxury of jealousy; it was aggravated by alarm. She was leftalone, a prey to the appeals of Abbie, who could not persuade her topromise silence. 

But the next night Jake was gone. Abbie explained that he had beencalled out of town to a meeting of a committee of his benevolentinsurance order. Mamise wondered and surmised. 

Jake went to meet Nicky Easton and claim his pay for his share in theelimination of the _Clara_. Nicky paid him so handsomely that Jakelost his head and imagined himself already a millionaire. Strangely, he did not at once set about dividing his wealth among his beloved"protelariat. " He made a royal progress from saloon to saloon, growingmore and more haughty, and pounding on successive bars with a vigorthat increased as his articulation effervesced. His secret wouldprobably have bubbled out of him if he had not been so offensive thathe was bounced out of every barroom before he had time to get to theexplanation of his wealth. In one "poor man's club" he fell asleepand rolled off his chair to a comfortable berth among the spittoons. 

Next morning Jake woke up with his head swollen and his pursevanished. He sought out Nicky and demanded another fee. Nicky laughedat his claim; but Jake grew threatening, and Nicky was frightened intooffering him a chance to win another fortune by sinking another ship. He staked Jake to the fare for his return and promised to motor downsome dark night and confer with him. Jake rolled home in state. 

On the same train went a much interested sleuth who detached himselffrom the entourage of Nicky and picked up Jake. 

Jake had attracted some attention when he first met Nicky inWashington, but the sadly overworked Department of Justice could notprovide a squad of escorts for every German or pro-German suspect. Before the war was over the secret army under Mr. Bielaski reached atotal of two hundred and fifty thousand, but the number of suspectsreached into the millions. From Nicky Easton alone a dozen activitiesradiated; and studying him and his communicants was a slow and complextask. 

Mr. Larrey decided that the best way to get a line on Jake would be totake a job alongside him and "watch his work. " It was the easiestthing in the world to get a job at Davidge's shipyard; and it wasanother of the easiest things in the world to meet Jake, for Jake waseager to meet workmen, particularly workmen like Larrey, who wouldlisten to reason, and take an interest in the gentle art of slowing upproduction. Larrey was all for sabotage. 

One evening Jake invited him to his house for further development. Onthat evening Mamise dropped in. She did not recognize Larrey, but heremembered her perfectly. 

He could hardly believe his camera eyes at first when he saw the greatMiss Webling enter a workman's shanty and accept Jake Nuddle'sintroduction:

"Larrey, old scout, this is me sister-in-law. Mamise, shake hands withme pal Larrey. "

Larrey had been the first of her shadows in New York, but had beencalled off when she proved unprofitable and before she met Easton. Andnow he found her at work in a shipyard where strange things werehappening! He was all afire with the covey of spies he had flushed. His first impulse was to shoot off a wire in code to announce hisdiscovery. Then he decided to work this gold-mine himself. It would bepleasanter to cultivate this pretty woman than Jake Nuddle, and shewould probably fall for him like a thousand of brick. But when heinvited himself to call on her her snub fell on him like a thousand ofbrick. She would not let him see her home, and he was furious tillJake explained, "She's sweet on the boss. "

Larrey decided that he had better call on Davidge and tip him off tothe past of his stenographer and get him to place her underobservation. 

The next day Davidge came back from his protracted journey. He hadfought a winning battle for an allotment of steel. He was boyish withthe renewal of battle ardor, and boyish in his greeting of Mamise. Hemade no bones of greeting her before all the clerks with a horriblyembarrassing enthusiasm:

"Lord! but I've been homesick to see you!"

Miss Gabus was disgusted. Mamise was silly with confusion. 

Those people who are always afraid of new customs have dreaded publiclife for women lest it should destroy modesty and rob them of theprotection of guardians, duennas, and chaperons. But the world seemsto have to have a certain amount of decency to get along on, at all, and provides for it among humans about as well as it provides for theprotection of other plants and animals, letting many suffer and perishand some prosper. 

The anxious conservatives who are always risking their own souls inspasms of anxiety over other people's souls would have given up Mamiseand Davidge for lost, since she lived alone and he was an unattachedbachelor. But curiously enough, their characters chaperoned them, their jobs and ambitions excited and fatigued them, and their moods oftemptation either did not coincide or were frustrated by circumstancesand crowds. 

Each knew well what it was to suffer an onset of desperate emotion, oflonging, of reckless, helpless adoration. But in office hours theseanguishes were as futile as prayers for the moon. Outside of officehours there were other obstacles, embarrassments, interferences. 

These protections and ambitions would not suffice forever, any morethan a mother's vigilance, maidenly timidity, convent walls or_yashmaks_ will infallibly prevail. But they managed to kill a gooddeal of time--and very dolefully. 

Mamise was in peculiar peril now. She was beginning to feel very sorryfor herself, and even sorrier for Davidge. She remembered how cruellyhe had been bludgeoned by the news of the destruction of his firstship, and she kept remembering the wild, sweet pangs of her sympathy, the strange ecstasy of entering into the grief of another. Sheremembered how she had seized his shoulders and how their hands hadwrestled together in a common anguish. The remembrance of thatcommunion came back to her in flashes of feverish demand for a renewalof union, for a consummation of it, indeed. She was human, and nothinghuman was alien to her. 

Davidge had spoken of marriage--had told her that he was a candidatefor her husbandcy. She had laughed at him then, for her heart had beenfull of the new wine of ambition. Like other wines, it had its morningafter when all that had been so alluring looked to be folly. Her ownloneliness told her that Davidge was lonely, and that two lonelinessescombined would make a festival, as two negatives an affirmative. 

When Davidge came back from his trip the joy in his eyes at sight ofher kindled her smoldering to flame. She would have been glad if hehad snatched her to his breast and crushed her there. She had thatwomanly longing to be crushed, and he the man's to crush. But fateprovided a sentinel. Miss Gabus was looking on; the office force stoodby, and the day's work was waiting to be done. 

Davidge went to his desk tremulous; Mamise to her typewriter. Shehammered out a devil's tattoo on it, and he devoured estimates andcommercial correspondence, while an aromatic haze enveloped them bothas truly as if they had been faun and nymph in a bosky glade. 

Miss Gabus played Mrs. Grundy all morning and at the noon hour made anoble effort to rescue Mamise from any opportunity to cast an evilspell over poor Mr. Davidge. Women have a wonderful pity for men thatother women cultivate! Yet all that Miss Gabus said to Miss Weblingwas:

"Goin' to lunch now, Mi' Swebling?"

And all that Miss Webling said was:

"Not just yet--thank you. "

Both were almost swooning with the tremendous significance of themoment. 

Miss Webling felt that she was defying all the powers of espionage andconvention when she made so brave as to linger while Miss Gabus leftthe room in short twitches, with the painful reluctance of one whopulls off an adhesive plaster by degrees. When at last she was reallyoff, Miss Webling went to Davidge's door, feeling as wicked as themaid in Ophelia's song, though she said no more than:

"Well, did you have a successful journey?"

Davidge whirled in his chair. 

"Bully! Sit down, won't you?"

He thought that no goddess had ever done so divine a thing soambrosially as she when she smiled and shook her incredibly exquisitehead. He rose to his feet in awe of her. His restless hands, afraid tolay hold of their quarry, automatically extracted his watch from hispocket and held it beneath his eyes. He stared at it withoutrecognizing the hour, and stammered:

"Will you lunch with me?"

"No, thank you!"

This jolted an "Oh!" out of him. Then he came back with:

"When am I going to get a chance to talk to you?"

"You know my address. "

"Yes, but--" He thought of that horrible evening when he had marchedthrough the double row of staring cottages. But he was determined. "Going to be home this evening?"

"By some strange accident--yes. "

"By some strange accident, I might drop round. "

"Do. "

They laughed idiotically, and she turned and glided out. 

She went to the mess-hall and moved about, selecting her dishes. Pretending not to see that Miss Gabus was pretending not to see her, she took her collation to another table and ate with the relish of asense of secret guilt--the guilt of a young woman secretly betrothed. 

Davidge kept away from the office most of the afternoon because Mamisewas so intolerably sweet and so tantalizingly unapproachable. He madea pretext of inspecting the works. She had a sugary suspicion of hismotive, and munched it with strange comfort. 

What might have happened if Davidge had called on her in her then moodand his could easily be guessed. But there are usually interventions. The chaperon this time was Mr. Larrey, the operative of the Departmentof Justice. He also had his secret. 

He arrived at Davidge's home just as Davidge finished the compositionof his third lawn tie and came down-stairs to go. When he saw Larreyhe was a trifle curt with his visitor. Thinking him a workman andprobably an ambassador from one of the unions on the usual mission ofsuch ambassadors--more pay, less hours, or the discharge of someunorganized laborer--Davidge said:

"Better come round to the office in the morning. "

"I can't come to your office, " said Larrey. 

"Why not? It's open to everybody. "

"Yeh, but I can't afford to be seen goin' there. "

"Good Lord! Isn't it respectable enough for you?"

"Yeh, but--well, I think it's my duty to tip you off to a little slickwork that's goin' on in your establishment. "

"Won't it keep till to-morrow evening?"

"Yeh--I guess so. It's only one of your stenographers. "

This checked Davidge. By a quaint coincidence he was about to call onone of his stenographers. Larrey amended his first statement:"Leastways, I'll say she calls herself a stenographer. But that's onlyher little camouflage. She's not on the level. "

Davidge realized that the stenographer he was wooing was not on thelevel. She was in the clouds. But his curiosity was piqued. Hemotioned Larrey to a chair and took another. 

"Shoot, " he said. 

"Well, it's this Miss Webling. Know anything about her?"

"Something, " said Davidge. He was too much amused to be angry. Hethought that Larrey was another of those amateur detectives whoflattered Germany by crediting her with an omnipresence in evil. Hewas a faithful reader of Ellis Parker Butler's famous sleuth, and hegrinned at Larrey. "Well, Mr. Philo Gubb, go on. Your story interestsme. "

Larrey reddened. He spoke earnestly, explained who he was, showed hiscredentials, and told what he knew of Miss Webling. He added what heimagined Davidge knew. 

Davidge found the whole thing too preposterous to be insolent. Hischivalry in Mamise's behalf was not aroused, because he thought thatthe incident would make a good story to tell her. He drew Larrey outby affecting amazed incredulity. 

Larrey explained: "She's an old friend of ours. We got the word fromthe British to pick the lady up when she first landed in this country. She was too slick for us, I guess, because we never got the goods onher. We gave her up after a couple of weeks. Then her trail crossedNicky Easton's once more. "

"And who is Nicky Easton?"

"He's a German agent she knew in London--great friend of her adoptedfather's. The British nabbed him once, but he split on the gang, andthey let him off. Whilst I was trailin' him I ran into a feller namedNuddle--he come up to see Easton. I followed him here, and lo andbehold! Miss Webling turns up, too! And passin' herself off forNuddle's sister-in-law! Nuddle's a bad actor, but she's worse. And shepretends to be a poor workin'-girl. Cheese! You should have seen herin New York all dolled up!"

Davidge ignored the opportunity to say that he had had the privilegeof seeing Miss Webling all dolled up. He knew why Mamise was living asshe did. It was a combination of lark and crusade. He nursed Larrey'sstory along, and asked with patient amusement:

"What's your theory as to her reason for playing such a game?"

He smiled as he said this, but sobered abruptly when Larreyexplained:

"You lost a ship not long ago, didn't you? You got other ships on theways, ain't you? Well, I don't need to tell you it's good business forthe Huns to slow up or blow up all the ships they can. Every boat theystop cuts down the supplies of the Allies just so much. This MissWebling's adopted father was in on the sinking of the _Lusitania_, andthis girl was, too, probably. She carried messages between old Weblingand Easton, and walked right into a little trap the British laid forher. She put up a strong fight, and, being an American, was let go. But her record got to this country before she did. You ask me whatshe's up to. Well, what should she be up to but the Kaiser's work?She's no stenographer, and she wouldn't be here playin' tunes on atypewriter unless she had some good business reason. Well, herbusiness is--she's a ship-wrecker. "

The charge was ridiculous, yet there were confirmations or seemingconfirmations of it. The mere name of Nicky Easton was a thorn inDavidge's soul. He remembered Easton in London at Mamise's elbow, andin Washington pursuing her car and calling her "Mees Vapelink. "

Davidge promised Larrey that he would look into the matter, and badehim good night with mingled respect and fear. 

When he set out at length to call on Mamise he was grievously troubledlest he had lost his heart to a clever adventuress. He despised hissuspicions, and yet--somebody had destroyed his ship. He rememberedhow shocked she had been by the news. Yet what else could the worstspy do but pretend to be deeply worried? Davidge had never liked JakeNuddle; Mamise's alleged relationship by marriage did not gainplausibility on reconsideration. The whim to live in a workman'scottage was even less convincing. 

Mr. Larrey had spoiled Davidge's blissful mood and his lover's programfor the evening. Davidge moved slowly toward Mamise's cottage, not asa suitor, but as a student. 

Larrey shadowed him from force of habit, and saw him going withreluctant feet, pausing now and then, irresolute. Davidge was thinkinghard, calling himself a fool, now for trusting Mamise and now forlistening to Larrey. To suspect Mamise was to be a traitor to hislove: not to suspect her was to be a traitor to his common sense andto his beloved career. 

And the Mamise that awaited the belated Davidge was also in a state oftangled wits. She, too, had dressed with a finikin care, as Davidgehad, neither of them stopping to think how quaint a custom it is forpeople who know each other well and see each other in plain clothesevery day to get themselves up with meticulous skill in the eveninglike Christmas parcels for each other's examination. Nature dressesthe birds in the mating season. Mankind with the aid of thedressmaker and the haberdasher plumes up at will. 

But as Cæsar had his Brutus, Charles I his Cromwell, and Davidge hisLarrey, so Mamise had her sister Abbie. 

Abbie came in unexpectedly and regarded Mamise's costume with noillusions except her own cynical ones:

"What you all diked up about?"

Mamise shrugged her eyebrows, her lips, and her shoulders. 

Abbie guessed. "That man comin'?"

Mamise repeated her previous business. 

"Kind of low neck, don't you think? And your arms nekked. "

Mamise drew over her arms a scarf that gave them color rather thanconcealment. Abbie scorned the subterfuge. 

"Do you think it's proper to dress like that for a man to comecallin'?"

"I did think so till you spoke, " snapped Mamise in all the bitternessof the ancient feud between loveliness unashamed and unlovely shame. 

Abbie felt unwelcome. "Well, I just dropped over because Jake's wentout to some kind of meetin'. "

"With whom? Where?"

"Oh, some of the workmen--a lot of soreheads lookin' for more wages. "

Mamise was indignant: "The soldiers get thirty dollars a month on atwenty-four-hour, seven-day shift. Jake gets more than that a week forloafing round the shop about seven hours a day. How on earth did youever tie yourself up to such a rotten bounder?"

Abbie longed for a hot retort, but was merely peevish:

"Well, I ain't seen you marryin' anything better. I guess I'll gohome. I don't seem to be wanted here. "

This was one of those exact truths that decent people must immediatelydeny. Mamise put her arms about Abbie and said:

"Forgive me, dear--I'm a beast. But Jake is such a--" She felt Abbiewriggling ominously and changed to: "He's so unworthy of you. Theseare such terrible times, and the world is in such horrible need ofeverybody's help and especially of ships. It breaks my heart to seeanybody wasting his time and strength interfering with the buildersinstead of joining them. It's like interfering with the soldiers. It's a kind of treason. And besides, he does so little for you and thechildren. "

This last Abbie was willing to admit. She shed a few tears ofself-esteem, but she simply could not rise to the heights of sufferingfor anything as abstract as a cause or a nation or a world. She waslike so many of the air-ships the United States was building then: shecould not be induced to leave the ground or, if she got up, to glideback safely. 

She tried now to love her country, but she hardly rose before shefell. 

"Oh, I know it's tur'ble what folks are sufferin', but--well, theLord's will be done, I say. "

"And I say it's mainly the devil's will that's being done!" saidMamise. 

This terrified Abbie. "I wisht you'd be a little careful of yourlanguage, Mamise. Swearin' and cigarettes both is pretty much of aload for a lady to git by with. "

"O Lord!" sighed Mamise, in despair. She was capable of long, highflights, but she could not carry such a passenger. 

Abbie continued: "And do you think it's right, seein' men here all byyourself?"

"I'm not seeing men--but a man. "

"But all by yourself. "

"I'm not all by myself when he's here. "

"You'll get the neighbors talkin'--you'll see!"

"A lot I care for their talk!"

"Why don't you marry him and settle down respectable and have childernand--"

"Why don't you go home and take care of your own?"

"I guess I better. " And she departed forthwith. 

CHAPTER VIII

The two sisters had managed to fray each other's nerves raw. The merefact that Abbie advocated marriage and maternity threw Mamise into acantankerous distaste for her own dreams. 

Larrey had delayed Davidge long enough for Mamise to be rid of Abbie, but the influence of both Larrey and Abbie was manifest in thestrained greetings of the caller and the callee. Instead of theeagerness to rush into each other's arms that both had felt in themorning, Davidge entered Mamise's presence with one thought dominant:"Is she really a spy? I must be on my guard. " And Mamise was thinking, "If he should be thinking what Abbie thought, how odious!"

Thus once more their moods chaperoned them. Love could not attunethem. She sat; he sat. When their glances met they parted at once. 

She mistook his uncertainty for despondency. She assumed that he wasbrooding over his lost ship. Out of a long silence she spoke:

"I wonder if the world will ever forget and forgive?"

"Forget and forgive who--whom, for what?"

"Germany for all she's done to this poor world--Belgium, the_Lusitania_, the _Clara_?"

He smiled sadly. "The _Clara_ was a little slow tub compared to the_Lusitania_, but she meant a lot to me. "

"And to me. So did the _Lusitania_. She nearly cost me my life. "

He was startled. "You didn't plan to sail on her?"

"No, but--" She paused. She had not meant to open this subject. 

But he was aching to hear her version of what Larrey had told. 

"How do you mean--she nearly cost you your life?"

"Oh, that's one of the dark chapters of my past. "

"You never told me about it. "

"I'd rather not. "

"Please!" He said it with a surprising earnestness. He had a suddenhope that her confession might be an absolving explanation. 

She could not fathom this eagerness, but she felt a desire to releasethat old secret. She began, recklessly:

"Well, I told you how I ran away from home and went on the stage, andSir Joseph Webling--"

"You told me that much, but not what happened before you met him. "

"No, I didn't tell you that, and I'm not going to now, but--well, SirJoseph was like a father to me; I never had one of my own--to know andremember. Sir Joseph was German born, and perhaps the ruthlessness wascontagious, for he--well, I can't tell you. "

"Please!"

"I swore not to. "

"You gave your oath to a German?"

"No, to an English officer in the Secret Service. I'm alwaysforgetting and starting to tell. "

"Why did you take your oath?"

"I traded secrecy for freedom. "

"You mean you turned state's evidence?"

"Oh no, I didn't tell on them. I didn't know what they were up to whenthey used me for-- But I'm skidding now. I want to tell you--terribly. But I simply must not. I made an awful mistake that night at Mrs. Prothero's in pretending to be ill. "

"You only pretended?"

"Yes, to get you away. You see, Lady Clifton-Wyatt got after me, accused me of being a spy, of carrying messages that resulted in thesinking of ships and the killing of men. She said that the police cameto our house, and Sir Joseph tried to kill one of them and killed hisown wife and then was shot by an officer and that they gave out thestory that Sir Joseph and Lady Webling died of ptomaine poisoning. Shesaid Nicky Easton was shot in the Tower. Oh, an awful story she told, and I was afraid she'd tell you, so I spirited you away on the pretextof illness. "

Davidge was astounded at this confirmation of Larrey's story. Hesaid:

"But it wasn't true what Lady C. -W. Told?"

"Most of it was false, but it was fiction founded on fact, and Icouldn't explain it without breaking my oath. And now I've prettynearly broken it, after all. I've sprained it badly. "

"Don't you want to go on and--finish it off?"

"I want to--oh, how I want to! but I've got to save a few shreds ofrespectability. I kidnapped you the day you were going to tea withLady C. -W. To keep you from her. I wish now I'd let you go. Then you'dhave known the worst of me--or worse than the worst. "

She turned a harrowed glance his way, and saw, to her bewilderment, that he was smiling broadly. Then he seized her hands and felt a needto gather her home to his arms. 

She was so amazed that she fell back to stare at him. Studying hisradiant face, she somehow guessed that he had known part of her storybefore and was glad to hear her confess it, but her intuition missedfire when she guessed at the source of his information. 

"You have been talking to Lady Clifton-Wyatt, after all!"

"Not since I saw her with you. "

"Then who told you?"

He laughed now, for it pleased him mightily to have her read his heartso true. 

"The main thing is that you told me. And now once more I ask you: willyou marry me?"

This startled her indeed. She startled him no less by her brusquerie:

"Certainly not. "

"And why not?"

"I'll marry no man who is so careless whom he marries as you are. "

CHAPTER IX

The whimsical solemnity of this made him roar. But a man does not lovea woman the less for being feminine, and when she thwarts him by awomanliness she delights him excruciatingly. 

But Mamise was in earnest. She believed in one emotion at a time. Itoffended her to have Davidge suggest that the funeral baked meats ofher tragedy should coldly furnish forth a wedding breakfast. Shewanted to revel awhile in her elegiac humor and pay full honor to hersorrow, full penalty for her guilt. She put aside his amorousimpatience and returned to her theme. 

"Well, after all the evil I have done, I wanted to make someatonement. I was involved in the sinking of I don't know how manyships, and I wanted to take some part in building others. So when Imet you and you told me that women could build ships, too, you wakeneda great hope in me, and an ambition. I wanted to get out in the yardsand swing a sledge or drive a riveting-gun. "

"With those hands?" He laughed and reached for them. 

She put them out of sight back of her as one removes dangerous toysfrom the clutch of a child, and went on:

"But you wouldn't let me. So I took up the next best thing, officework. I studied that hateful stenography and learned to play atypewriter. "

"It keeps you nearer to me. "

"But I don't want to be near you. I want to build ships. Please let mego out in the yard. Please give me a real job. "

He could not keep from laughing at her, at such delicacy pleading forsuch toil. His amusement humiliated her and baffled her so that atlength she said:

"Please go on home. It's getting late, and I don't like you at all. "

"I know you don't like me, but couldn't you love me?"

"That's more impossible than liking you, since you won't let me havemy only wish. "

"It's too brutal, I tell you. And it's getting too cold. It wouldsimply ruin your perfect skin. I don't want to marry a longshoreman, thank you. "

"Then I'll thank you to go on home. I'm tired out. I've got to get upin the morning at the screech of dawn and take up your ghastlydrudgery again. "

"If you'll marry me you won't have to work at all. "

"But work is the one thing I want. So if you'll kindly take yourselfoff I'll be much obliged. You've no business here, anyway, and it'sgetting so late that you'll have all the neighbors talking. "

"A lot I care!"

"Well, I care a lot, " she said, blandly belying her words to Abbie. "I've got to live among them. "

It was a miserable ending to an evening of such promise. He felt assheepish as a cub turned out of his best girl's house by a sleepyparent, but he had no choice. He rose drearily, fought his way intohis overcoat, and growled:

"Good night!"

She sighed "Good night!" and wished that she were not so cantankerous. The closing of the door shook her whole frame, and she made a stepforward to call him back, but sank into a chair instead, worn out withthe general unsatisfactoriness of life, the complicated mathematicalproblem that never comes out even. Marriage is a circle that cannot bequite squared. 

She sat droopily in her chair for a long while, pondering mankind andwomankind and their mutual dependence and incompatibility. It would benice to be married if one could stay single at the same time. But itwas hopelessly impossible to eat your cake and have it, too. 

Abbie, watching from her window and not knowing that Davidge had gone, imagined all sorts of things and wished that her wild sister wouldmarry and settle down. And yet she wished that she herself had stayedsingle, for the children were a torment, and of her husband she couldonly say that she did not know whether he bothered her the more whenhe was away or when he was at home. 

When Davidge left Mamise he looked back at the lonely cottage shestubbornly and miserably occupied and longed to hale her from it intoa palace. As he walked home his heart warmed to all the littlecottages, most of them dark and cheerless, and he longed to change allthese to palaces, too. He felt sorry for the poor, tired people thatlived so humbly there and slept now but to rise in the morning tobegin moiling again. 

Sometimes from his office window he surveyed the long lines at thepay-windows and felt proud that he could pour so much treasure intothe hands of the poor. If he had not schemed and borrowed andorganized they would not have had their wages at all. 

But now he wished that there might be no poor and no wages, buteverybody palaced and living on money from home. That seemed to be theidea, too, of his more discontented working-men, but he could notimagine how everybody could have a palace and everybody live at ease. Who was to build the palaces? Who was to cut the marble from themountains and haul it, and who to dig the foundations and blast thesteel and fasten the girders together? It was easy for the dreamersand the literary loafers and the irresponsible cartoonists to denouncethe capitalists and draw pictures of them as obese swine wallowing inbags of gold while emaciated children put out their lean hands invain. But cartoons were not construction, and the men who wouldrevolutionize the world could not, as a rule, keep their own booksstraight. 

Material riches were everywhere, provided one had the mental riches togo out and get them. Davidge had been as poor as the poorest man athis works, but he had sold muscle for money and brains for money. Hehad dreamed and schemed and drawn up tremendous plans while they tooktheir pay and went home to their evenings of repose in the bosoms oftheir families or the barrooms of idleness. 

Still there was no convincing them of the realization that they couldnot get capital by slandering capitalists, or ease by ease, but onlyby sweat. And so everybody was saying that as soon as this great warwas over a greater war was coming upon the world. He wondered whatcould be done to stay that universal fury from destroying utterly allthat the German horror might spare. 

Thinking of such things, he forgot, for the nonce, the pangs oflove. 

BOOK V

IN WASHINGTON

[Illustration: How quaint a custom it is for people who know each otherwell and see each other in plain clothes every day to get themselves upwith meticulous skill in the evening like Christmas parcels for eachother's examination. ]

CHAPTER I

The threat of winter was terrifying the long-suffering world. Peoplethought of the gales that would harass the poor souls in the clammytrenches, the icy winds that would flutter the tents of the men incamps, the sleety storms that would lash the workers on the docks andon the decks of ships and in the shipyards; the final relentlesspersecution of the refugees, crowded upon the towns that had notenough for themselves. 

To be cold when one is despondent is a fearsome thing. Mamise woke inthe chill little cottage and had to leap from her snug bed to a coldbathroom, come out chattering to a cold kitchen. Just as her housegrew a little warm, she had to leave it for a long, windy walk to anoffice not half warm enough. 

The air was full of orphan leaves, and Cossack whirlwinds stampededthem down the roads as ruthlessly as Uhlans herding Belgian fugitivesalong. The dour autumn seemed to wrench hopes from the heart likeshriveled leaves, and to fill the air with swirling discouragements. The men at work about the ships were numb and often stopped to blowupon their aching fingers. The red-hot rivets went in showers thatthreatened to blister, but gave no warmth. 

The ambitions of Mamise congealed along with the other stirringthings. She was sorely tempted to give up the unwomanly battle andaccept Davidge's offer of a wedding-ring. She had, of course, herWebling inheritance to fall back upon, but she had come to hate it soas tainted money that she would not touch it or its interest. She putit all into Liberty Bonds and gave a good many of those to variouscharities. Not the least of her delights in her new career had beenher emancipation from slavery to the money Mr. Verrinder had spoken ofas her wages for aiding Sir Joseph Webling. 

A marriage with Davidge was an altogether different slavery, athoroughly patriotic livelihood. It would permit her to have servantsto wait on her and build her fires. She would go out only when shewished, and sleep late of mornings. She would have multitudinous fursand a closed and heated limousine to carry her through the whiteworld. She could salve her conscience by taking up some of the morecomfortable forms of war work. She could manage a Red Crossbandage-factory or a knitting-room or serve hot dishes in a cozycanteen. 

At times from sheer creature discomfort she inclined toward matrimony, as many another woman has done. These craven moods alternated withperiods of self-rebuke. She told herself that such a marriage woulddishonor her and cheat Davidge. 

Besides, marriage was not all wedding-bells and luxury; it had itsgall as well as its honey. Even in divorceful America marriage stillpossesses for women a certain finality. Only one marriage in nineended in divorce that year. 

Mamise knew men and women, married, single, and betwixt. She was far, indeed, from that more or less imaginary character so frequent infiction and so rare in reality, the young woman who knows nothing oflife and mankind. Like every other woman that ever lived, she knew agood deal more than she would confess, and had had more experiencethan she would admit under oath. In fact, she did not deny that sheknew more than she wished she knew, and Davidge had found her verytantalizing about just how much her experience totaled up. 

She had observed the enormous difference between a man and a woman whomeet occasionally and the same people chained together interminably. Quail is a delicacy for invalids and gourmets, but notoriouslyintolerable as a steady diet. On the other hand, bread is forevergood. One never tires of bread. And a lucky marriage is as perenniallyrefreshing as bread and butter. The maddening thing about marriage iswhat makes other lotteries irresistible: after all, capital prizes doexist, and some people get them. 

Mamise had seen happy mates, rich and poor. In her lonelier hours shecoveted their dual blessedness, enriched with joys and griefs sharedin plenty and in privation. 

Mamise liked Davidge better than she had ever liked any other man. She supposed she loved him. Sometimes she longed for him with a kindof ferocity. Then she was afraid of him, of what he would be like as ahusband, of what she would be like as a wife. 

Mamise was in an absolute chaos of mind, afraid of everything andeverybody, from the weather to wedlock. She had been lured into anoffice by the fascinating advertisements of freedom, a career, achievement, doing-your-bit and other catchwords. She had found thatbusiness has its boredoms no less than the prison walls of home, commerce its treadmills and its oakum-picking no less than the jail. The cozy little cottage and the pleasant chores of solitude began tonag her soul. 

The destruction of the good ship _Clara_ had dealt her a heavier blowthan she at first realized, for the mind suffers from obscure internalinjuries as the body does after a great shock. She understood whatbitter tragedies threaten the business man no less than the monarch, the warrior, the poet, and the lover, though there has not been manyan Æschylos or Euripides or Dante to make poetry of the Prometheuschained to the rocks of trade with the vulture pay-roll gnawing at hisprofits; the OEdipos in the factory who sees everything gone horriblyawry; or the slow pilgrim through the business hell with all theinfernal variations of bankruptcy, strikes, panics, and competition. 

The blowing up of the _Clara_ had revealed the pitiful truth that menmay toil like swarming bees upon a painful and costly structure, onlyto see it all annulled at once by a careless or a malicious stranger. The _Clara_ served as a warning that the ship _Mamise_ now on thestocks and growing ever so slowly might be never finished, ordestroyed as soon as done. A pall of discontent was gathering abouther. It was the turn of that season in her calendar. The weather wasconspiring with the inner November. 

The infamous winter of 1917-18 was preparing to descend upon theblackest year in human annals. Everybody was unhappy; there was afrightful shortage of food among all nations, a terrifying shortage ofcoal, and the lowest temperature ever known would be recorded. America, less unfortunate than the other peoples, was bitterlydisappointed in herself. 

There was food in plenty for America, but not for her confederates. The prices were appalling. Wages went up and up, but never quitecaught the expenses. It was necessary to send enormous quantities ofeverything to our allies lest they perish before we could arrive withtroops. And Germany went on fiendishly destroying ships, foodstuffs, and capital, displaying in every victory a more insatiable cruelty, amore revolting cynicism toward justice, mercy, or truth. 

The Kaiserly contempt for America's importance seemed to be justified. People were beginning to remember Rome, and to wonder if, after all, Germany might not crush France and England with the troops that haddemolished Russia. And then America would have to fight alone. 

At this time Mamise stumbled upon an old magazine of the ancient dateof 1914. It was full of prophecies that the Kaiser would be dethroned, exiled, hanged, perhaps. The irony of it was ghastly. Nothing was moreimpossible than the downfall of the Kaiser--who seemed verifying hisboasts that he took his crown from God. He was praising the strongsword of the unconquerable Germany. He was marshaling the millionsfrom his eastern front to throw the British troops into the sea andsmother the France he had bled white. The best that the most hopefulcould do was to mutter: "Hurry! hurry! We've got to hurry!"

Mamise grew fretful about the delay to the ship that was to take hername across the sea. She went to Davidge to protest: "Can't you hurryup my ship? If she isn't launched soon I'm going to go mad. "

Davidge threw back his head and emitted a noise between laughter andprofanity. He picked up a letter and flung it down. 

"I've just got orders changing the specifications again. This is thethird time, and the third time's the charm; for now we've got to takeout all we've put in, make a new set of drawings and a new set ofcastings and pretty blamed near tear down the whole ship and rebuildit. "

"In the name of Heaven, why?"

"In the name of hades, because we've got to get a herd of railroadlocomotives to France, and sending them over in pieces won't do. Theywant 'em ready to run. So the powers that be have ordered me toprovide two hatchways big enough to lower whole locomotives through, and pigeonholes in the hold big enough to carry them. As far as the_Mamise_ is concerned, that means we've just about got to rub it outand do it over again. It's a case of back to the mold-loft for_Mamise_. "

"And about how much more delay will this mean?"

"Oh, about ninety days or thereabouts. If we're lucky we'll launch herby spring. "

This was almost worse than the death of the _Clara_. That tragedy hadbeen noble; it dealt a noble blow and woke the heart to a noble griefand courage. But deferment made the heart sick, and the brain andalmost the stomach. 

Davidge liked the disappointment no better than Mamise did, but he wasused to it. 

"And now aren't you glad you're not a ship-builder? How would you feelif you had got your wish to work in the yard and had turned yourlittle velvet hands into a pair of nutmeg-graters by driving about tenthousand rivets into those plates, only to have to cut 'em all outagain and drive 'em into an entirely new set of plates, knowing thatmaybe they'd have to come out another time and go back? How'd you likethat?"

Mamise lifted her shoulders and let them fall. 

Davidge went on:

"That's a business man's life, my dear--eternally making things thatwon't sell, putting his soul and his capital and his preparation intoa pile of stock that nobody will take off his hands. But he has to goright on, borrowing money and pledging the past for the future andnever knowing whether his dreams will turn out to be dollarsor--junk!"

Mamise realized for the first time the pathos, the higher drama of themanufacturer's world, that world which poets and some other literaryartists do not describe because they are too ignorant, too petty, toobookish. They sneer at the noble word _commercial_ as if it were areproach!

Mamise, however, looked on Davidge in his swivel-chair as a kind ofdespondent demigod, a Titan weary of the eternal strife. She tried torise beyond a poetical height to the clouds of the practical. 

"What will you do with all the workmen who are on that job?"

Davidge grinned. "They're announcing their monthly strike for higherwages--threatening to lay off the force. It'd serve 'em right to take'em at their word for a while. But you simply can't fight a laborunion according to Queensbery rules, so I'll give 'em the raise andput 'em on another ship. "

"And the _Mamise_ will be idle and neglected for three months. "

"Just about. "

"The Germans couldn't have done much worse by her, could they?"

"Not much. "

"I think I'll call it a day and go home, " said Mamise. 

"Better call it a quarter and go to New York or Palm Beach orsomewhere where there's a little gaiety. "

"Are you sick of seeing me round?"

"Since you won't marry me--yes. "

Mamise sniffed at this and set her little desk in order, aligned thepencils in the tray, put the carbons back in the box and the rubbercover on the typewriter. Then she sank it into its well and put on herhat. 

Davidge held her heavy coat for her and could not resist theopportunity to fold her into his arms. Just as his arms closed abouther and he opened his lips to beg her not to desert him he saw overher shoulder the door opening. 

He had barely time to release her and pretend to be still holding hercoat when Miss Gabus entered. His elaborate guiltlessness confirmedher bitterest suspicions, and she crossed the room to deposit a sheafof letters in Davidge's "in" basket and gather up the letters in his"out" basket. She passed across the stage with an effect of absoluterefrigeration, like one of Richard III's ghosts. 

Davidge was furious at Miss Gabus and himself. Mamise was furious atthem both--partly for the awkwardness of the incident, partly for thefailure of Davidge's enterprise against her lips. 

When Miss Gabus was gone the ecstatic momentum was lost. Davidgegrumbled:

"Shall I see you to-morrow?"

"I don't know, " said Mamise. 

She gave him her hand. He pressed it in his two palms and shook hishead. She shook her head. They were both rebuking the bad behavior ofthe fates. 

Mamise trudged homeward--or at least houseward. She was in another ofher irresolute states, and irresolution is the most disappointing ofall the moods to the irresolute ones and all the neighbors. It wasirresolution that made "Hamlet" a five-act play, and only aShakespeare could have kept him endurable. 

Mamise was becoming unendurable to herself. When she got to hercottage she found it as dismal as an empty ice-box. When she hadstarted the fire going she had nothing else to do. In sheerdesperation she decided to answer a few letters. There was an old onefrom Polly Widdicombe. She read it again. It contained the usualinvitation to come back to reason and Washington. 

Just for something positive to do she resolved to go. There was atonic in the mere act of decision. She wrote a letter. She felt thatshe could not wait so long as its answer would require. She resolvedto send a telegram. 

This meant hustling out into the cold again, but it was something todo, somewhere to go, some excuse for a hope. 

Polly telegraphed:

 Come without fail dying to see you bring along a scuttle of coal if you can. 

Mamise showed Davidge the telegram. He was very plucky about lettingher go. For her sake he was so glad that he concealed his ownloneliness. That made her underestimate it. He confirmed her beliefthat he was glad to be rid of her by making a lark of her departure. He filled an old suit-case with coal and insisted on her taking it. The porter who lugged it along the platform at Washington gave Mamisea curious look. He supposed that this was one of those suit-cases fullof bottled goods that were coming into Washington in such multitudessince the town had been decreed absolutely dry. He shook it and wassurprised when he failed to hear the glug-glug of liquor. 

But Polly welcomed the suit-case as if it had been full of that otherform of carbon which women wear in rings and necklaces. The wholecountry was underheated. To the wheatless, meatless, sweetless daysthere were added the heatless months. Major Widdicombe took hisbreakfasts standing up in his overcoat. Polly and Mamise had theirs inbed, and the maids that brought it wore their heaviest clothes. 

There were long lines of petitioners all day at the offices of theFuel Administration. But it did little good. All the shops andtheaters were kept shut on Mondays. Country clubs were closed. Everydevice to save a lump of coal was put into legal effect so that thenecessary war factories might run and the ships go over the sea. Soonthere would be gasoleneless Sundays by request, and all the peoplewould obey. Bills of fare at home and at hotel would be regulated bylaw. Restaurants would be fined for serving more than one meat to oneperson. Grocers would be fined for selling too much sugar to a family. Placards, great billboards, and all the newspapers were filled withcounsels to save, save, save, and buy, buy, buy Bonds, Bonds, Bonds. People grew depressed at all this effort, all this sacrifice with solittle show of accomplishment. 

American troops, except a pitiful few, were still in America andapparently doomed to stay. This could easily be proved by mathematics, for there were not ships enough to carry them and their supplies. TheGermans were building up reserves in France, and they had everyadvantage of inner lines. They could hurl an avalanche of men at anyone of a hundred points of the thin Allied line almost withoutwarning, and wherever they struck the line would split before thereserves could be rushed up to the crevasse. And once through, whatcould stop them? Indeed, the whisper went about that the Allies had noreserves worth the name. France and England were literally "all in. "

Success and the hope of success did not make the Germans meek. Theycredited God with a share in their achievement and pinned an IronCross on Him, but they kept mortgaging His resources for the future. Those who had protested that the war had been forced on a peacefulGermany and that her majestic fight was all in self-defense came outnow to confess--or rather to boast--that they had planned this triumphall along; for thirty years they had built and drilled and stored upreserves. And now they were about to sweep the world and make it aGerman planet. 

The peaceful Kaiser admitted that he had toiled for this approachingday of glory. His war-weary, hunger-pinched subjects were whipped upto further endurance by a brandy of fiery promises, the prospects ofincalculable loot, vast colonies, mountains of food, and indemnitiessky-high. They were told to be glad that America had come into the waropenly at last, so that her untouched treasure-chest could pay thebills. 

In the whole history of chicken-computation there were probably neverso many fowls counted before they were hatched--and in the finaloutcome never such a crackling and such a stench of rotten eggs. 

But no one in those drear days was mad enough to see the outcome. Thestrategical experts protested against the wasteful "side-shows" inMesopotamia, Palestine, and Saloniki, and the taking of Jerusalem wascounted merely a pretty bit of Christmas shopping that could not weighagainst the fall of Kerensky, the end of Russian résistance in theBolshevik upheaval, and the Italian stampede down their ownmountainsides. 

Of all the optimists crazy enough to prophesy a speedy Germancollapse, no one put his finger on Bulgaria as the first to break. 

So sublime, indeed, was the German confidence that many in America whohad been driven to cover because of their Teutonic activities beforeAmerica entered the war began to dream that they, too, would reap agreat reward for their martyrdom on behalf of the Fatherland. 

The premonition of the dawning of _Der Tag_ stirred the heart of NickyEaston, of course. He had led for months the life of a fox in ahunt-club county. Every time he put his head out he heard the bay ofthe hounds. He had stolen very few chickens, and he expected everymoment to be pounced on. But now that he felt assured of a Germantriumph in a little while, he began to think of the future. His heartturned again to Mamise. 

His life of hiding and stealing about from place to place hadcompelled him to a more ascetic existence than he had been used to. His German accent did not help him, and he had found that even thoseheavy persons known as light women, though they had no other virtue, had patriotism enough to greet his advances with fierce hostility. His dialect insulted those who had relinquished the privilege of beinginsulted, and they would not soil their open palms with German-stainedmoney. 

In his alliance with Jake Nuddle for the blowing up of the _Clara_, and their later communications looking toward the destruction of otherships, he kept informed of Mamise. He always asked Jake about her. Hewas bitterly depressed by the news that she was "sweet on" Davidge. Hewas exultant when he learned from Jake that she had given up her workin the office and had gone to Washington. Jake learned her addressfrom Abbie, and passed it on to Nicky. 

Nicky was tempted to steal into Washington and surprise her. But enemyaliens were forbidden to visit the capital, and he was afraid to go bytrain. He had wild visions of motoring thither and luring her to aride with him. He wanted to kidnap her. He might force her to marryhim by threatening to kill her and himself. At least he might make herhis after the classic manner of his fellow-countrymen in Belgium. Buthe had not force enough to carry out anything so masterful. He was asentimental German, not a warrior. 

In his more emotional moods he began to feel a prophetic sorrow forMarie Louise after the Germans had conquered the world. She would beregarded as a traitress. She had been adopted by Sir Joseph Weblingand had helped him, only to abandon the cause and go over to theenemy. 

If Nicky could convert her again to loyalty, persuade her to do somebrave deed for the Fatherland in redemption of her blacksliding, thenwhen _Der Tag_ came he could reveal what she had done. When in thatresurrection day the graves opened and all the good German spies andpropagandists came forth to be crowned by _Gott_ and the Kaiser, Nickycould lead Marie Louise to the dual throne, and, describing herreconciliation to the cause, claim her as his bride. And the Kaiserwould say, "_Ende gut, alles gut!_"

Never a missionary felt more sanctity in offering salvation to a lostsoul by way of repentance than Nicky felt when he went to the house ofan American friend and had Mamise called on the long-distancetelephone. 

Mamise answered, "Yes, this is Miss Webling, " to the faint-voicedlong-distance operator, and was told to hold the wire. She heard:"All ready with Washington. Go ahead. " Then she heard a timid query:

"Hallow, hallow! Iss this Miss Vapelink?"

She was shocked at the familiar dialect. She answered:

"This is Miss Webling, yes. Who is it?"

"You don'd know my woice?"

"Yes--yes. I know you--"

"Pleass to say no names. "

"Where are you?"

"In Philadelphia. "

"All right. What do you want?"

"To see you. "

"You evidently know my address. "

"You know I cannot come by Vashington. "

"Then how can I see you?"

"You could meet me some place, yes?"

"Certainly not. "

"It is important, most important. "

"To whom?"

"To you--only to you. It is for your sake. "

She laughed at this; yet it set her curiosity on fire, as he hoped itwould. He could almost hear her pondering. But what she asked was:

"How did you find my address?"

"From Chake--Chake Nuttle. "

He could not see the wild look that threw her eyes and lips wide. Shehad never dreamed of such an acquaintance. The mere possibility of itset her brain whirling. It seemed to explain many things, explain themwith a horrible clarity. She dared not reveal her suspicions to Nicky. She said nothing till she heard him speak again:

"Vell, you come, yes?"

"Where?"

"You could come here best?"

"No, it's too far. "

"By Baltimore we could meet once?"

"All right. Where? When?"

"To-morrow. I do not know Baltimore good. Ve could take ride byautomobile and talk so. Yes?"

"All right. " This a little anxiously. 

"To-morrow evening. I remember it is a train gets there fromVashington about eight. I meet you. Make sure nobody sees you takethat train, yes?"

"Yes. "

"You know people follow people sometimes. "

"Yes. "

"I trust you alvays, Marie Louise. "

"All right. Good-by. "

"Goot-py, Marie Louise. "

CHAPTER II

While Mamise was talking her telephone ear had suffered several sharpand painful rasps, as if angry rattlesnakes had wakened in thereceiver. 

The moment she put it up the bell rang. Supposing that Nicky had somepostscript to add, she lifted the receiver again. Her ear was asbewildered as your tongue when it expects to taste one thing andtastes another, for it was Davidge's voice that spoke, asking for her. She called him by name, and he growled:

"Good Lord! is that you? Who was the fascinating stranger who kept mewaiting so long?"

"Don't you wish you knew?" she laughed. "Where are you now? At theshipyard?"

"No, I'm in Washington--ran up on business. Can I see you to-night?"

"I hope so--unless we're going out--as I believe we are. Hold thewire, won't you, while I ask. " She came back in due season to say, "Polly says you are to come to dinner and go to a dance with usafterward. "

"A dance? I'm not invited. "

"It's a kind of club affair at a hotel. Polly has the right to takeyou--no end of big bugs will be there. "

"I'm rusty on dancing, but with you--"

"Thanks. We'll expect you, then. Dinner is at eight. Wrap up well. It's cold, isn't it?"

He thought it divine of her to think of his comfort. The thought ofher in his arms dancing set his heart to rioting. He was singing as hedressed, and as he rode put to Grinden Hall, singing a specimen of thenew musical insanity known as "jazz"--so pestilential a music thateven the fiddlers capered and writhed. 

The Potomac was full of tumultuous ice, and the old Rosslyn bridgesquealed with cold under the motor. It was good to see the lights ofthe Hall at last, and to thaw himself out at the huge fireplace. 

"Lucky to get a little wood, " said Major Widdicombe. "Don't know whatwe'll do when it's gone. Coal is next to impossible. "

Then the women came down, Polly and Mamise and two or three otherhouse guests, and some wives of important people. They laid off theirwraps and then decided to keep them on. 

Davidge had been so used to seeing Mamise as a plainly clad, discouraged office-hack that when she descended the stairs and pausedon the landing a few steps from the floor, to lift her eyebrows andher lip-corners at him, he was glad of the pause. 

"Break it to me gently, " he called across the balustrade. 

She descended the rest of the way and advanced, revealed in hercomplete height and all her radiant vesture. He was dazed by herunimagined splendor. 

As she gave him her hand and collected with her eyes the tribute inhis, she said:

"Break what to you gently?"

"You!" he groaned. "Good Lord! Talk about 'the glory that was Greeceand the grandeur that was Rome'!"

With amiable reciprocity she returned him a compliment on his eveningfinery. 

"The same to you and many of them. You are quite stunning indécolleté. For a pair of common laborers, we are certainly gaudy. "

Polly came up and greeted Davidge with, "So you're the fascinatingbrute that keeps Marie Louise down in the penitentiary of that awfulship-factory. "

Davidge indicated her brilliance and answered: "Never again. She'sfired! We can't afford her. "

"Bully for you, " said Polly. "I suppose I'm an old-fashioned, grandmotherly sort of person, but I'll be damned if I can see why awoman that can look as gorgeous as Marie Louise here should bepounding typewriter keys in an office. Of course, if she had to-- Buteven then, I should say that it would be her solemn religious duty tosell her soul for a lot of glad-rags. 

"A lot of people are predicting that women will never go back to thefoolish frills and furbelows of before the war; but--well, I'm noprophetess, but all I can say is that if this war puts an end to thedressmaker's art, it will certainly put civilization on the blink. Now, honestly, what could a woman accomplish in the world if sheworked in overalls twenty-four hours a day for twenty-four years--whatcould she make that would be more worth while than getting herself alldressed up and looking her best?"

Davidge said: "You're talking like a French aristocrat before theRevolution; but I wish you could convince her of it. "

Mamise was trying to take her triumph casually, but she was thrilled, thrilled with the supreme pride of a woman in her best clothes--in andout of her best clothes, and liberally illuminated with jewelry. Shewas now something like a great singer singing the highest note of hermaster-aria in her best rôle--herself at once the perfect instrumentand the perfect artist. 

Marie Louise went in on Davidge's arm. The dining-room was in galaattire, the best silver and all of it out--flowers and candles. Butthe big vault was cold; the men shivered and marveled at the women, who left their wraps on the backs of their chairs and sat up in noapparent discomfort with shoulders, backs, chests, and arms naked tothe chill. 

Polly was moved to explain to the great folk present just who Mamisewas. She celebrated Mamise in her own way. 

"To look at Miss Webling, would you take her for a perfect nut? Sheis, though--the worst ever. Do you know what she has done? Taken upstenography and gone into the office of a ship-building gang!"

The other squaws exclaimed upon her with various out-cries ofamazement. 

"What's more, " said Mamise, "I live on my salary. "

This was considered incredible in the Washington of then. Mamiseadmitted that it took management. 

Mamise said: "Polly, can you see me living in a shanty cooking my ownbreakfast and dinner and waiting on myself and washing my own dishes?And for lunch going to a big mess-hall, waiting on myself, too, andeating on the swollen arm of a big chair?"

Polly shook her head in despair of her. "Let those do it that haveto. Nobody's going to get me to live like a Belgian refugee withoutgiving me the same excuse. "

Mamise suddenly felt that her heroism was hardly more than a sillyaffectation, a patriotic pose. In these surroundings the memory of herdaily life was disgusting, plain stupidity. Here she was in herelement, at her superlative. She breathed deeply of the atmosphere ofluxury, the incense of rich food served ceremoniously to resplendentpeople. 

"I'm beginning to agree with you, Polly. I don't think I'll ever goback to honest work again. "

She thought she saw in Davidge's eyes a gleam of approval. It occurredto her that he was renewing his invitation to her to become his wifeand live as a lady. She was not insulted by the surmise. 

When the women departed for the drawing-room, the men sat for a while, talking of the coal famine, the appalling debts the country washeaping into mountains--the blood-sweating taxes, the business end ofthe war, the prospect for the spring campaign on the Western Front, the avalanche of Russia, the rise of the Bolsheviki, the story thatthey were in German pay, the terrible toll of American lives it wouldtake to replace the Russian armies, and the humiliating delay ingetting men into uniform, equipped, and ferried across the sea. Theastounding order had just been promulgated, shutting down all industryand business for four days and for the ten succeeding Mondays in orderto eke out coal; this was regarded as worse than the loss of a greatbattle. Every aspect of the war was so depressing that the coroner'sinquest broke up at once when Major Widdicombe said:

"I get enough of this in the shop, and I'm frozen through. Let's go inand jaw the women. "

Concealing their loneliness, the men entered the drawing-room with themajestic languor of lions well fed. 

Davidge paused to study Mamise from behind a smokescreen thatconcealed his stare. She was listening politely to the wife of Holman, of the War Trade Board. Mrs. Holman's stories were always long, andpeople were always interrupting them because they had to or stay muteall night. Davidge was glad of her clatter, because it gave him achance to revel in Mamise. She was presented to his eyes in a kind ofmitigated silhouette against a bright-hued lamp-shade. She was seatedsidewise on a black Chinese chair. On the back of it her upraised armrested. Davidge's eyes followed the strange and marvelous outlinedescribed by the lines of that arm, running into the sharp rise of ashoulder, like an apple against the throat, the bizarre shape of thehead in its whimsical coiffure, the slope of the other shouldercarrying the caressing glance down that arm to the hand clasping asheaf of outspread plumes against her knee, and on along to where onequaint impossible slipper with a fantastic high heel emerged from astream of fabric that flowed on out to the train. 

Then with the vision of honorable desire he imagined the body of herwhere it disappeared below the shoulders into the possession of thegown; he imagined with a certain awe what she must be like beneath allthose long lines, those rounded surfaces, those eloquent wrinkles withtheir curious little pockets full of shadow, among the pools of lightthat satin shimmers with. 

In other times and climes men had worn figured silks and satins andbrocades, had worn long gowns and lace-trimmed sleeves, jeweledbonnets and curls, but now the male had surrendered to the female hisprehistoric right to the fanciful plumage. These war days were grownso austere that it began to seem wrong even for women to dress withmuch more than a masculine sobriety. But the occasion of this ball hadremoved the ban on extravagance. 

The occasion justified the maximum display of jewelry, too, and Mamisewore all she had. She had taken her gems from their prison in thesafe-deposit box in the Trust Company cellar. They seemed to be gladto be at home in the light again. They reveled in it, winking, laughing, playing a kind of game in which light chased light throughthe deeps of color. 

The oddity of the feminine passion for precious stones struck Davidgesharply. The man who built iron ships to carry freight wondered at thecurious industry of those who sought out pebbles of price, andpolished them, shaped them, faceted them, and fastened them in metalsof studied design, petrified jellies that seemed to quiver yet defiedsteel. 

He contrasted the cranes that would lift a locomotive and lower itinto the hold of one of his ships with the tiny pincers with which alapidary picked up a diamond fleck and sealed it in platinum. Hecontrasted the pneumatic riveter with the tiny hammers of thegoldsmith. There seemed to be no less vanity about one than the other. The work of the jeweler would outlast the iron hull. A diamond aslarge as a rivet-head would cost far more than a ship. Jewels, likesonnets and symphonies and flower-gardens, were good for nothing, yetsomehow worth more than anything useful. 

He wondered what the future would do to these arts and theirpatronesses. The one business of the world now was the manufacture, transportation, and efficient delivery of explosives. 

He could understand how offensive bejeweled and banqueted people wereto the humble, who went grimy and weary in dirty overalls over theirplain clothes to their ugly factories and back to their uglier homes. 

It was a consummation devoutly to be wished that nobody should spendhis life or hers soiled and tired and fagged with a monotonous task. It seemed hard that the toiling woman and the wife and daughter of thetoiler might not alleviate their bleak persons with pearl necklacesabout their throats, with rubies pendant from their ears, and theirfingers studded with sapphire and topaz. 

Yet it did not look possible, somehow. And it seemed better that a fewshould have them rather than none at all, better that beauty should beallowed to reign somewhere than nowhere during its brief perfection. 

And after all, what proof was there that the spoliation of the richand the ending of riches would mean the enrichment of the poor?When panics came and the rich fasted the poor starved. Would thereduction of the opulent and the elevation of the paupers all to thesame plain average make anybody happier? Would the poor be glad tolearn that they could never be rich? With nobody to envy, wouldcontentment set in? With ambition rated as a crime, the bequeathingof comfort to one's children rendered impossible, the establishmentof one's destiny left to the decision of boards and by-laws, wouldthere be satisfaction? The Bolsheviki had voted "universal happiness. "It would be interesting to see how well Russia fared during thenext year and how universally happiness might be distributed. 

He frowned and shook his head as if to free himself from thesenettlesome riddles and left them to the Bolshevist Samaritans to solvein the vast laboratory where the manual laborers at last could workout their hearts' desires, with the upper class destroyed and the evenmore hateful middle class at their mercy. 

It was bitter cold on the way to the ballroom in the Willard Hotel, and Davidge in his big coat studied Mamise smothered in a voluminoussealskin overcoat. This, too, had meant hardship for the poor. Manymen had sailed on a bitter voyage to arctic regions and endured everyprivation of cold and hunger and peril that this young woman mightride cozy in any chill soever. The fur coat had cost much money, butlittle of it had fallen into the frosted hands of the men who clubbedthe seal to death on the ice-floes. The sleek furrier in the warm cityshop, when he sold the finished garment, took in far more than the menwho went out into the wilderness and brought back the pelts. That didnot seem right; yet he had a heavy rent to pay, and if he did notcreate the market for the furs, the sealers would not get paid at allfor their voyage. 

A division of the spoils that would rob no one, nor kill the industry, was beyond Davidge's imagining. He comforted himself with the thoughtthat those loud mouths that advertised solutions of these laborproblems were fools or liars or both; and their mouths were the toolsthey worked with most. 

The important immediate thing to contemplate was the fascinating headof Mamise, quaintly set on the shapeless bulk of a sea-lion. 

CHAPTER III

Davidge had been a good dancer once, and he had not entirely neglectedthe new school of foot improvisation, so different from the old setsteps. 

Mamise was amazed to find that the strenuous business man had so muchof the faun in his soul. He had evidently listened to the pipes of Panand could "shake a sugar-heel" with a practised skill. There was astartling authority in the firmness with which he gathered her in andswept her through the kaleidoscopic throng, now dipping, now skipping, now limping, now running. 

He gripped the savory body of Mamise close to him and found her to hiswhim, foreseeing it with a mysterious prescience. Holding her thusintimately in the brief wedlock of the dance, he began to love her ina way that he could think of only one word for--_terrible_. 

She seemed to grow afraid, too, of the spell that was befogging them, and sought rescue in a flippancy. There was also a flattering spice ofjealousy in what she murmured:

"You haven't spent all your afternoons and evenings building ships, young man!"

"No?"

"What cabarets have you graduated from?"

He quoted her own words, "Don't you wish you knew?"

"No. "

"One thing is certain. I've never found in any of 'em as light afeather as you. "

"Are you referring to my head or my feet?"

"Your blessed feet!"

His arm about her tightened to a suffocation, and he whirled her in adelirium of motion. 

"That's unfair!" she protested, affrighted yet delighted by the fireof his ecstasy in their union. The music stopped, and she clung to himdizzily while he applauded with the other dancers till the bandrenewed the tune. She had regained her mental with her bodilyequilibrium, and she danced more staidly; yet she had seen into thecrater of his heart and was not sorry that it existed. 

The reprise of the dance was brief, and he had to surrender her fromhis embrace. He was unwontedly rhapsodic. "I wish we could sail on andon and on forever. "

"Forever is a long time, " she smiled. 

"May I have the next dance?"

"Certainly not! Take Polly round and pay for your supper. Butdon't--"

"Don't what?"

"I don't know. "

Polly was taken for the next dance, and he was glad of it, but hesuffered at seeing how perfectly Mamise footed it with a youngofficer who also knew how to compel her to his whim. Davidge wonderedif Mamise could be responding to this fellow as keenly as sheresponded to himself. The thought was intolerable. She could not beso wanton. It would amount to a hideous infidelity. Moorish jealousysmoldered in his heart, and he cursed public dancing as an infamous, an unbelievable promiscuity. Yet when he had Polly Widdicombe forthe next dance, her husband had no cause for jealousy. Polly was atemperate dancer, all gaiety, estheticism plus athleticism. 

Davidge kept twisting his head about to see how Mamise comportedherself. He was being swiftly wrung to that desperate condition inwhich men are made ready to commit monogamy. He felt that he could notendure to have Mamise free any longer. 

He presented himself to her for the next dance. 

She laughed. "I'm booked. "

He blanched at the treacherous heartlessness and sat the danceout--stood it out, rather, among the superfluous men on theside-lines. A morose and ridiculous gloom possessed him at seeingstill a fourth stranger with his arms about Mamise, her breast to hisand her procedure obedient to his. Worse yet, when a fifth insolentstranger cut in on the twin stars, Mamise abandoned her fourthtemporary husband for another with a levity that amounted tooutrageous polyandry. 

Davidge felt no impulse to cut in. He disliked dancing so intenselythat he wanted to put an end to the abomination, reform it altogether. He did not want to dance between those white arms so easily forsworn. He wanted to rescue Mamise from this place of horror and hale her awayto a cave with no outlook on mankind. 

It was she who sought him where he glowered. Perhaps she understoodhim. If she did, she was wise enough to enjoy the proof of her swayover him and still sane enough to take a joy in her triumph. 

She introduced her partner--Davidge would almost have called thebrute a paramour. He did not get the man's name and was glad ofit--especially as the hunter deserted her and went after his nextSabine. 

"You've lost your faithful stenographer, " was the first phrase ofMamise's that Davidge understood. 

"Why so?" he grumbled. 

"Because this is the life for me. I've been a heroine and a war-workerabout as long as I can. I'm for the fleshpots and the cold-cream jarsand the light fantastic. Aren't you going to dance with me any more?"

"Just as you please, " Davidge said, with a singularly boyishsulkiness, and wondered why Mamise laughed so mercilessly:

"Of course I please. "

The music struck up an abandoned jig, but he danced with great dignitytill his feet ran away with him. Then he made off with her again inone of his frenzies, and a laughter filled his whole being. 

She heard him growl something. 

"What did you say?" she said. 

"I said, 'Damn you!'"

She laughed so heartily at this that she had to stop dancing for amoment. She astonished him by a brazen question:

"Do you really love me as much as that?"

"More, " he groaned, and they bobbed and ducked and skipped as hemuttered a wild anachronism:

"If you don't marry me I'll murder you. "

"You're murdering me now. May I breathe, please?"

He was furious at her evasion of so solemn a proposal. Yet she was sobeautifully alive and aglow that he could not exactly hate her. But hesaid:

"I won't ask you again. Next time you can ask me. "

"All right; that's a bet. I'll give you fair warning. "

And then that dance was over, and Mamise triumphant in all things. Shewas tumultuously hale and happy, and her lover loved her. 

To her that hath--for now, whom should Mamise see but Lady Clifton-Wyatt?Her heart ached with a reminiscent fear for a moment; then a malicioushope set it going again. Major Widdicombe claimed Mamise for the nextdance, and extracted her from Davidge's possession. As they dancedout, leaving Davidge stranded, Mamise noted that Lady C. -W. Wasregarding Davidge with a startled interest. 

The whirl of the dance carried her close to Lady Clifton-Wyatt, andshe knew that Lady C. -W. Had seen her. Broken glimpses revealed to herthat Lady C. -W. Was escorting her escort across the ballroom floortoward Davidge. 

She saw the brazen creature tap Davidge's elbow and smile, putting outher hand with coquetry. She saw her debarrass herself of hercompanion, a French officer whose exquisite horizon-blue uniform wasamazingly crossed with the wound and service chevrons of three years'warfaring. Nevertheless, Lady Clifton-Wyatt dropped him for thecivilian Davidge. Mamise, flitting here and there, saw that Davidgewas being led to the punch-altar, thence to a lonely strip of chairs, where Lady C. -W. Sat herself down and motioned him to drop anchoralongside. 

Mamise longed to be near enough to hear what she could guess: herenemy's artless prelude followed by gradual modulations to her maintheme--Mamise's wicked record. 

Mamise wished that she had studied lip-reading to get the details. Butthis was a slight vexation in the exultance of her mood. She wasserene in the consciousness that Davidge already knew the facts abouther, and that Lady Clifton-Wyatt's gossip would fall with the drearythud of a story heard before. So Mamise's feet flew, and her heartmade a music of its own to the tune of:

"Thank God, I told him!"

She realized, as never before, the tremendous comfort and convenienceof the truth. She had been by instinct as veracious as a politely bredperson may be, but now she understood that the truth is mighty goodbusiness. She resolved to deal in no other wares. 

This resolution lasted just long enough for her to make a hastyexception: she would begin her exclusive use of the truth as soon asshe had told Polly a neat lie in explanation of her inexplicablejourney to Baltimore. 

Lady C. -W. Was doing Mamise the best turn in her power. Davidge wasstill angry at Mamise's flippancy in the face of his ardor. But LadyC. -W. 's attack gave the flirt the dignity of martyrdom. When LadyC. -W. Finished her subtly casual account of all that Mamise had doneor been accused of doing, Davidge crushed her with the quiet remark:

"So she told me. "

"She told you that!"

"Yes, and explained it all!"

"She would!" was the best that Lady Clifton-Wyatt could do, but shesaw that the case was lost. She saw that Davidge's gaze was followingMamise here and there amid the dancers, and she was sportswoman enoughto concede:

"She is a beauty, anyway--there's no questioning that, at least. "

It was the canniest thing she could have done to re-establish herselfin Davidge's eyes. He felt so well reconciled with the world that hesaid:

"You wouldn't care to finish this dance, I suppose?"

"Why not?"

Lady Clifton-Wyatt was democratic--in the provinces and theStates--and this was as good a way of changing the subject as any. Sherose promptly and entered the bosom of Davidge. The good American whodid not believe in aristocracies had just time to be overawed atfinding himself hugging a real Lady with a capital L when the musicstopped. 

It is an old saw that what is too foolish to be said can be sung. Music hallows or denatures whatever it touches. It was quite proper, because quite customary, for Davidge and Lady Clifton-Wyatt to standenfolded in each other's embrace so long as a dance tune was in theair. The moment the musicians quit work the attitude became indecent. 

Amazing and eternal mystery, that custom can make the same thing meaneverything, or nothing, or all the between-things. The ancientBabylonians carried the idea of the permissible embrace to theultimate intimacy in their annual festivals, and the good womendoubtless thought no more of it than a woman of to-day thinks ofwaltzing with a presentable stranger. They went home to their husbandsand their housework as if they had been to church. Certain Bolsheviki, even in the year 1918, put up placards renewing the ancientMesopotamian custom, under the guise of a community privilege and acivic duty. 

And yet some people pretend to differentiate between fashions andmorals!

But nobody at this dance was foolish enough to philosophize. Everybodywas out for a good time, and a Scotsman from the British embassy cameup to claim Lady Clifton-Wyatt's hand and body for the next dance. Davidge had been mystically attuned anew to Mamise, and he found herin a mood for reconciliation. She liked him so well that when theItalian aviator to whom she had pledged the "Tickle Toe" came todemand it, she perjured herself calmly and eloped with Davidge. AndDavidge, instead of being alarmed by her easy morals, was completelyreassured. 

But he found her unready with another perjury when he abruptly askedher:

"What are you doing to-morrow?"

"Let me see, " she temporized in a flutter, thinking of Baltimore andNicky. 

"If you've nothing special on, how about a tea-dance? I'm gettingaddicted to this. "

"I'm afraid I'm booked up for to-morrow, " she faltered. "Polly keepsthe calendar. Yes, I know we have some stupid date--I can't think justwhat. How about the day after?"

The deferment made his amorous heart sick, and to-morrow's to-morrowseemed as remote as Judgment Day. Besides, as he explained:

"I've got to go back to the shipyard to-morrow evening. Couldn't yougive me a lunch--an early one at twelve-thirty?"

"Yes, I could do that. In fact, I'd love it!"

"And me too?"

"That would be telling. "

At this delicious moment an insolent cub in boots and spurs cut in andwould not be denied. Davidge was tempted to use his fists, but Mamise, though she longed to tarry with Davidge, knew the value of tantalism, and consented to the abduction. For revenge Davidge took up with Pollyand danced after Mamise, to be near her. He followed so close thatthe disastrous cub, in a sudden pirouette, contrived to swipe Pollyacross the shin and ankle-bones with his spur. 

She almost swooned of agony, and clung to Davidge for support, mixingastonishing profanity with her smothered groans. The cub showeredapologies on her, and reviled "Regulations" which compelled him towear spurs with his boots, though he had only a desk job. 

Polly smiled at him murderously, and said it was nothing. But Mamisesaw her distress, rid herself of the hapless criminal and gave Pollyher arm, as she limped through the barrage of hurtling couples. Pollyasked Davidge to retrieve her husband from the sloe-eyed ambassadresswho was hypnotizing him. She wailed to Mamise:

"I know I'm marked for life. I ought to have a wound-chevron for this. I've got to go home and put my ankle in splints. I'll probably have towear it in a sling for a month. I'd like to kill the rotten hound thatput me out of business. And I had the next dance with that beautifulRumanian devil! You stay and dance with your ship-builder!"

Mamise could not even think of it, and insisted on bidding good nightto the crestfallen Davidge. He offered to ride out home with her, butPolly refused. She wanted to have a good cry in the car. 

Davidge bade Mamise good night, reminded her that she was plighted toluncheon at twelve-thirty, and went to the house of the friend he wasstopping with, the hotels being booked solid for weeks ahead. He wasnursing a stern determination to endure bachelordom no longer. 

Mamise was thinking of Davidge tenderly with one of her brains, whileanother segment condoled with Polly. But most of her wits were engagedin hunting a good excuse for her Baltimore escapade the nextafternoon, and in discarding such implausible excuses as occurred toher. 

Bitter chill it was, and these owls, for all their feathers, werea-cold. Major Widdicombe was chattering. 

"I danced myself into a sweat, and now my undershirt is all icicles. Iknow I'll die of pneumonia. "

He shifted his foot, and one of his spurs grazed the ankle of Polly, who was snuggling to him for warmth. 

She yowled: "My Gawd! My yankle! You'll not last long enough forpneumonia if you touch me again. "

He was filled with remorse, but when he tried to reach round toembrace her, she would none of him. 

When they got to the bridge, they were amazed at the lazy old Potomac. It was a white torment of broken ice, roaring and slashing andbattering the piers of the ancient bridge ominously, huge sheetsclambering up and falling back split and broken, with the uproar of anattack on a walled town. 

The chauffeur went to full speed, and the frosty boards shrilled underthe flight. 

The house was cold when they reached it, and Mamise's room was like astorage-vault. She tore off her light dancing-dress and shivered asshe stripped and took refuge in a cobwebby nightgown. She threw on aheavy bathrobe and kept it on when she crept into the icy intersticebetween the all-too-snowy sheets. 

She had forgotten to explain to Polly about her Baltimore venture, andshe shivered so vigorously that sleep was impossible to her palsiedbones. She grew no warmer from besetting visions of the battle-front. She tried to shame herself out of her chill by contrasting her opulentbed with the dreadful dugouts in France, the observation posts, theshell-riddled ruins, where millions somehow existed. Again, as atValley Forge, American soldiers were marching there in the snowbarefooted, or in rags or in wooden sabots, for lack of ships to getnew shoes across. 

Yet, in these frozen hells there were not men enough. The Germanoffensive must not find the lines so sparsely defended. Men must becombed out of every cranny of the nations and herded to the slaughter. America was denying herself warmth in order to build shells and toshuttle the ships back and forth. There was need of more women, too--thousands more to nurse the men, to run the canteens, to mend theclothes, to warm men's hearts _via_ their stomachs, and to take theirminds off the madness of war a little while. The Salvation Army wouldfurnish them hot doughnuts in the trenches and heat up their courage. Actors and actresses were playing at all the big cantonments now. Later they would be going across to play in France--one-night stands, two a day in Picardy. 

Suddenly Mamise felt the need to go abroad. In a kind of burlesque ofthe calling of the infant Samuel, she sat up in her bed, startled asby a voice calling her to a mission. She had been an actress, awanderer, a performer in cheap theaters, a catcher of late trains, adweller in rickety hotels. She knew cold, and she had played half cladin draughty halls. 

She had escaped from the life and had tried to escape the memory ofit. But now that she was so cold she felt that nothing was so pitifulas to be cold. She understood, with a congealing vividness, how thosepoor droves of lads in bitterer cold were suffering, scattered alongthe frontiers of war like infinite flocks of sheep caught in ablizzard. She felt ashamed to be here shivering in this palatialmisery when she might be sharing the all-but-unbearable squalor of thesoldiers. 

The more she recoiled from the hardships the more she felt theimpulse. It would be her atonement. 

She would buy a trombone and retire into the wilderness to practiseit. She would lay her dignity, her aristocracy, her pride, on thealtar of sacrifice, and go among the despondent soldiers as a Sisterof Gaiety. Perhaps Bill the Blackfaceman would be going over--if hehad not stayed in Germany too long and been interned there. To returnto the team with him, being the final degradation, would be the finalatonement. She felt that she was called, called back. There could benothing else she would hate more to do; therefore she would love to dothat most of all. 

She would lunch with Davidge to-morrow, tell him her plan, bid himfarewell, go to Baltimore, learn Nicky's secret, thwart it one way oranother--and then set about her destiny. 

She abhorred the relapse so utterly that she wept. The warm tearsrefreshed her eyes before they froze on her cheeks, and she fellasleep in the blissful assurance of a martyrdom. 

CHAPTER IV

The next morning Mamise woke in her self-warmed bed, at the nudge of acolored maid bundled up like an Eskimo, who carried a breakfast-trayin mittened hands. 

Mamise said: "Oh, good morning, Martha. I'll bathe before breakfast ifyou'll turn on the hot water, please. "

"Hot water? Humph! Pipes done froze last night, an' bus' loose thismo'nin', and fill the kitchen range with water an' bus' loose again. No plumber here yit. Made this breakfuss on the gas-stove. That'shalf-froze, tew. I tell you, ma'am, you're lucky to git your coffeenohow. Better take it before it freezes, tew. "

Mamise sighed and glanced at the clock. The reproachful hands stood ateleven-thirty. 

"Did the clock freeze, too? That can't be the right time!"

"Yessum, that's the raht tahm. "

"Great heavens!"

"Yes, ma'am. "

Mamise sat up, drew the comforters about her back, and breakfastedwith speed. She dressed with all the agility she could muster. 

She regretted the bath. She missed it, and so must we all. In modernhistory, as in modern fiction, it is not nice in the least for theheroine--even such a dubious heroine as Mamise--to have a bathlessday. As for heroes, in the polite chronicles they get at least twobaths a day: one heroic cold shower in the morning and one hot tub inthe late afternoon before getting into the faultless evening attire. This does not apply to heroes of Russian masterpieces, of course, forthey never bathe. ("Why should they, " my wife puts in, "since they'regoing to commit suicide, anyway?")

But the horrors of the Great War included this atrocity, that thevery politest people came to know the old-fashioned luxury of anextra-dry life. There was a time when cleanliness was accounted asungodliness and the Christian saints anathematized the bath as anOriental pollution. During our war of wars there was a vast amount ofhelpless holy living. 

Exquisite gentlemen kept to their clothes for weeks at a time and grewrancid and lousy among the rats that were foul enough to share theirstinking dens with them. If these gentlemen were wounded, perchance, they added stale blood, putrefaction, and offal to their abominablefetor. 

And women who had been pretty and soapy and without smell, and who hadonce blanched with shame at the least maculation, lived with theseslovenly men and vermin and dead horses and old dead soldiers andshared their glorious loathsomeness. 

The world acquired a strong stomach, and Mamise's one skip-bath daymust be endured. If the indecency ever occurred again it will be leftunmentioned. Heaven knows that even this morning she looked pureenough when she was dressed. 

Mamise found that Polly was still in bed, giving her damaged ankle asan excuse. She stuck it out for Mamise's inspection, and Mamisepretended to be appalled at the bruise she could almost see. 

Mamise remembered her plan to go abroad and entertain the soldiers. Polly tried to dissuade her from an even crazier scheme thanship-building, but ended by promising to telephone her husband to lookinto the matter of a passport for her. 

Despite her best efforts, it was already twelve-thirty and Mamise hadnot left the house. She was afraid that Davidge would be miffed. Pollysuggested telephoning the hotel. 

Those were bad days for telephoners. The wires were as crowded aseverything else. 

"It will take an hour to get the hotel, " said Mamise, "another hour topage the man. I'll make a dash for it. He'll give me a little grace, Iknow. "

The car was not ready when she got to the door. The engine was balkyand bucky with the cold, and the chauffeur in a like mood. The roadswere sleety and skiddy, and required careful driving. 

Best of all, when she reached the bridge at last, she found it closedto traffic. The Potomac had been infected by the war spirit. In sheerHunnishness it had ravaged its banks, shearing away boat-houses andpiers, and carrying all manner of wreckage down to pound the oldaqueduct bridge with. The bridge was not expected to live. 

It did, but it was not intrusted with traffic till long after thedistraught Mamise had been told that the only way to get to Washingtonwas by the Highway Bridge from Alexandria, and this meant a détour ofmiles. It gave Mamise her first and only grand rounds through FortMyer and the Arlington National Cemetery. She felt sorry for thesoldiers about the cold barracks, but she was in no mood to respond tothe marble pages of the Arlington epic. 

The night before she had beheld in a clear vision the living hosts inFlanders and France, but here under the snow lay sixteen thousanddead, two thousand a hundred and eleven heroes under one monument ofeternal anonymity--dead from all our wars, and many of them with theirwives and daughters privileged to lie beside them. 

But the mood is everything, and Mamise was too fretful to rise to thisoccasion; and when her car had crept the uneasy miles and reached theAlexandria bridge and crossed it, and wound through Potomac Park, pastthe Washington Monument standing like a stupendous icicle, and reachedthe hotel, she was just one hour late. 

Davidge had given her up in disgust and despair, after vain efforts toreach her at various other possible luncheon-places. He searched themall on the chance that she might have misunderstood the rendezvous. And Mamise spent a frantic hour trying to find him at some hotel. Hehad registered nowhere, since a friend had put him up. The sole resultof this interesting game of two needles hunting each other through ahaystack was that Davidge went without lunch and Mamise ate alone. 

In the late afternoon Davidge made another try. He finally got PollyWiddicombe on the telephone and asked for Mamise. Polly expressed heramazement. 

"Why, she just telephoned that she was staying in town to dine withyou and go to the theater. "

"Oh!" said the befuddled Davidge. "Oh, of course! Silly of me!Good-by!"

Now he was indeed in a mental mess. Besides, he had another engagementto dinner. He spent a long, exasperating hour in a telephone-chaseafter his host, told a poor lie to explain the necessity for breakingthe engagement, and spent the rest of the evening hunting Mamise invain. 

When he took the train for his shipyard at last he was in a hopelessconfusion between rage at Mamise and fear that some mishap hadbefallen her. It would have been hard to tell whether he loved her orhated her the more. 

But she, after giving up the pursuit of him, had taken up an inquiryinto the trains to Baltimore. The time was now too short for her torisk a journey out to Grinden Hall and back for a suit-case, in viewof the Alexandria détour. She must, therefore, travel without baggage. Therefore she must return the same night. She found, to her immenserelief, that this could be done. The seven-o'clock train to Baltimorereached there at eight, and there was a ten-ten train back. 

She had not yet devised a lie to appease Polly with, but now aninspiration came to her. She had told Davidge that she was dining outwith Polly somewhere; consequently it would be safe to tell Polly thatshe was dining out with Davidge somewhere. The two would never meet tocompare notes. Besides, it is pleasanter to lie by telephone. Onecannot be seen to blush. 

She called up Grinden Hall and was luckily answered by what Widdicombecalled "the ebony maid with the ivory head. " Mamise told her not tosummon her lame mistress to the telephone, but merely to say that MissWebling was dining with Mr. Davidge and going to the theater with him. She made the maid repeat this till she had it by heart, then rangoff. 

This was the message that Polly received and later transmitted toDavidge for his bewilderment. 

To fill the hours that must elapse before her train could leave, Mamise went to one of those moving-picture shows that keep goingwithout interruption. Public benefactors maintain them for thesalvation of women who have no homes or do not want to go to themyet. 

The moving-picture service included the usual news weekly, as usualleading one to marvel why the stupid subjects shown were selected fromall the fascinating events of the time. Then followed a dolefulimitation of Mr. Charles Chaplin, which proved by its very fiasco theartistry of the original. 

The _cinema de résistance_ was a long and idiotic vampire picture inwhich a stodgy creature lured impossible males to impossible ruin bywiles and attitudes that would have driven any actual male to flight, laughter, or a call for the police. But the audience seemed to enjoyit, as a substitute, no doubt, for the old-fashioned gruesomefairy-stories that one accepts because they are so unlike the tiresomerealities. Mamise wondered if vampirism really succeeded in life. Shewas tempted to try a little of it some time, just as an experiment, ifever opportunity offered. 

In any case, the picture served its main purpose. It whiled away thedull afternoon till the dinner hour. She took her dinner on the train, remembering vividly how her heart history with Davidge had begun on atrain. She missed him now, and his self-effacing gallantry. 

The man opposite her wanted to be cordial, but his motive was illconcealed, and Mamise treated him as if he didn't quite exist. Suddenly she remembered with a gasp that she had never paid Davidgefor that chair he gave up to her. She vowed again that she would notforget. She felt a deep remorse, too, for a day of lies and tricks. She regretted especially the necessity of deceiving Davidge. It washer privilege to hoodwink Polly and other people, but she had no rightto deceive Davidge. She was beginning to feel that she belonged tohim. 

She resolved to atone for these new transgressions, too, as well asher old, by getting over to France as soon as possible and subjectingherself to a self-immolation among hardships. After the war--assumingthat the war would soon end and that she would come out of italive--afterward she could settle down and perhaps marry Davidge. 

Reveling in these pleasantly miserable schemes, she was startled tofind Baltimore already gathering round the train. And she had not evenbegun to organize her stratagems against Nicky Easton. She made ahasty exit from the car and sought the cab-ranks outside. 

From the shadows a shadowy man semi-detached himself, lifted his hat, and motioned her to an open door. She bent her head down and herknees up and entered a little room on wheels. 

Nicky had evidently given the chauffeur instructions, for as soon asNicky had come in, doubled up, and seated himself the limousine movedoff--into what adventures? Mamise was wondering. 

BOOK VI

IN BALTIMORE

[Illustration: "So I have already done something more for Germany. That'ssplendid. Now tell me what else I can do. " Nicky was too intoxicated withhis success to see through her thin disguise. ]

CHAPTER I

Mamise remembered her earlier visits to Baltimore as a tawdry youngvaudevillette. She had probably walked from the station, lugging herown valise, to some ghastly theatrical boarding-house. Perhaps somelover of hers had carried her baggage for her. If so, she hadforgotten just which one of her experiences he was. 

Now she hoped to be even more obscure and unconsidered than she hadbeen then, when a little attention was meat and drink, and her name inthe paper was a sensation. She knew that publicity, like love, fleeswhoso pursueth and pursues who flees it, but she prayed that the rulewould be proved by an exception to-night, and that she might sneak outas anonymously as she had sneaked in. 

Nicky Easton was a more immediate problem. He was groping for herhands. When he found them she was glad that she had her gloves on. They were chaperoned, too, as it were, by their heavy wraps. She wasfairly lost in her furs and he in a burly overcoat, so that when in akind of frenzy he thrust one cumbrous arm about her the insulation wascomplete. He might as well have been embracing the cab she was in. 

But the insolence of the intention enraged her, and she struggledagainst him as a she-bear might rebuff a too familiar bruin--buffetedhis arms away and muttered:

"You imbecile! Do you want me to knock on the glass and tell thedriver to let me out?"

"_Nein doch_!"

"Then let me alone or I will. "

Nicky sighed abysmally and sank back. He said nothing at all to her, and she said the same to him while long strips of Baltimorean marblestoops went by. They turned into Charles Street and climbed past itsstatue-haunted gardens and on out to the north. 

They were almost at Druid Hill Park before Mamise realized that shewas wasting her time and her trip for nothing. She spoke angrily:

"You said you wanted to see me. I'm here. "

Nicky fidgeted and sulked:

"I do not neet to told you now. You have such a hatink from me, it isno use. "

"If you had told me you simply wanted to spoon with me I could havestayed at home. You said you wanted to ask me something. "

"I have my enswer. It is not any neet to esk. "

Mamise was puzzled; her wrath was yielding to curiosity. But she couldnot imagine how to coax him out of silence. 

His disappointment coaxed him. He groaned:

"_Ach Gott_, I am so lunly. My own people doand trust me. TheseYenkees also not. I get no chence to proof how I loaf my _Vaterland_. But the time comes soon, and I must make patience. _Eile mit Weile!_"

"You'd better tell me what's on your mind, " Mamise suggested, but heshook his head. The car rolled into the gloom of the park, a gloomrather punctuated than diminished by the street-lamps. Mamise realizedthat she could not extort Nicky's secret from him by asserting her owndignity. 

She wondered how to persuade him, and found no ideas except such sillyschemes as were suggested by her memory of the vampire picture. Shehated the very passage of such thoughts through her mind, but theykept returning, with an insistent idea that a patriotic vampire mightaccomplish something for her country as Delilah and Judith had"vamped" for theirs. She had never seen a vampire exercise herfascinations in a fur coat in a dark automobile, but perhaps the darkwas all the better for her purpose. 

At any rate, she took the dare her wits presented her, and after astruggle with her own mutinous muscles she put out her hand and soughtNicky's, as she cooed:

"Come along, Nicky, don't be so cantankerous. "

His hand registered the surprise he felt in the fervor of its clutch:

"But you are so colt!"

She insinuated, "You couldn't expect me to make love to you the veryfirst thing, could you?"

"You mean you do like me?"

Her hands wringing his told the lie her tongue refused. And he, encouraged and determined to prove his rating with her, flung his armabout her again and drew her, resisting only in her soul, close tohim. 

CHAPTER II

But when his lips hunted hers she hid them in her fur collar; and he, imputing it to coquetry, humored her, finding her delicate timidityenhancing and inspiring. He chuckled:

"You shall kiss me yet. "

"Not till you have told me what you sent for me for. "

"No, feerst you must give me one to proof your good fate--your goodface--" He was trying to say "good faith. "

She was stubborn, but he was more obstinate still, and he had theadvantage of the secret. 

And so at last she sighed "All right, " and put up her cheek to pay theprice. His arms tightened about her, and his lips were not contentwith her cheek. He fought to win her lips, but she began to tear offher gloves to scratch his eyes out if need be for release. 

She was revolted, and she would have marred his beauty if he had notlet her go. Once freed, she regained her self-control, for the sake ofher mission, and said, with a mock seriousness:

"Now, be careful, or I won't listen to you at all. "

Sighing with disappointment, but more determined than ever to make herhis, he said:

"Feerst I must esk you, how is your feelink about Chermany?"

"Just as before. "

"Chust as vich 'before'? Do you loaf Chermany or hate?"

She was permitted to say only one thing. It came hard:

"I love her, of course. "

"_Ach, behüt' dich, Gott!_" he cried, and would have clasped heragain, but she insisted on discipline. He began his explanation. 

"I did told you how, to safe my life in England, I confessedsomethings. Many of our people here will not forgive. My only vay toget back vere I have been is to make--as Americans say--to make myselfskvare by to do some big vork. I have done a little, not much, butmore can be if you help. "

"What could I do?"

"Much things, but the greatest--listen once: our Chermany has no fearof America so long America is on this side of the Atlentic Ozean. Americans build ships; Chermany must destroy fester as they build. Already I have made one ship less for America. I cannot pooblishadvertisink, but my people shall one day know, and that day comessoon; _Der Tag_ is almost here--you shall see! Our army grows alvays, in France; and England and France can get no more men. Ven all isready, Chermany moves like a--a avalenche down a mountain and coversFrance to the sea. 

"On that day our fleet--our glorious ships--comes out from Kiel Canal, vere man holds them beck like big dogs in leash. Oh those beautifulday, Chermany conquers on lent and on sea. France dies, and England'snavy goes down into the deep and comes never back. 

"_Ach Gott_, such a day it shall be--when old England's empire goesinto history, into ancient history vit Roossia and Rome and Greece andBebylonia. 

"England gone, France gone, Italy gone--who shall safe America and herarmies and her unborn ships, and her cannon and shell and air-shipsnot yet so much as begun?

"_Der Tag_ shall be like the lest day ven _Gott_ makes the graves openand the dead come beck to life. The Americans shall fall on kneesbefore our Kaiser, and he shall render chudgment. Such a payink!

"Now the Yenkees despise us Chermans. Ve cannot go to this city, tothat dock. Everywhere is dead-lines and permissions and internmentcamps and persecutions, and all who are not in prison are afraid. Theychange their names from Cherman to English now, but soon they shalllift their heads and it shall be the Americans who shall know thedead-lines, the licenses, the internment camps. 

"So, Marie Louise, my sveetheart, if you can show and I can show thatin the dark night ve did not forget the _Vaterland_, ve shall be proudand safe. 

"It is to make you safe ven comes _Der Tag_ I speak to you now. I vishyou should share my vork now, so you can share my life efterwards. Now do I loaf you, Marie Louise? Now do I give you proof?"

Mamise was all ashudder with the intensity of his conviction. Sheimagined an all-conquering Germany in America. She needed but tomultiply the story of Belgium, of Serbia, of prostrate Russia. TheKaiser had put in the shop-window of the world samples enough of thefuture as it would be made by Germany. 

And in the mood of that day, with defeatism rife in Europe, andpessimism miasmatic in America, there was reason enough for Nicky tobelieve in his prophecy and to inspire belief in its possibility. Theonly impossible thing about it was that the world should ever endurethe dominance of Germany. Death would seem better to almost everybodythan life in such a civilization as she promised. 

Mamise feared the Teutonic might, but she could not for a momentconsent to accept it. There was only one thing for her to do, and thatwas to learn what plans she could, and thwart them. Here within hergrasp was the long-sought opportunity to pay off the debt she hadincurred. She could be a soldier now, at last. There was no price thatNicky might have demanded too great, too costly, too shameful for herto pay. To denounce him or defy him would be a criminal waste ofopportunity. 

She said: "I understand. You are right, of course. Let me help in anyway I can. I only wish there were something big for me to do. "

Nicky was overjoyed. He had triumphed both as patriot and as lover. 

"There is a big think for you to do, " he said. "You can all youvill. "

"Tell me, " she pleaded. 

"You are in shipyard. This man Davidge goes on building ships. I gavehim fair warning. I sinked one ship for him, but he makes more. "

"You sank his ship?" Mamise gasped. 

"Sure! The _Clara_, he called her. I find where she goes to takecargo. I go myself. I row up behind the ship in little boat, and Ifasten by the rudder-post under the water, where no one sees, a bomb. It is all innocent till ship moves. Then every time the rudder turns alittle screw turns in the machine. 

"It turns for two, three days; then--_boom_! It makes explosion, tearsship to pieces, and down she goes. And so goes all the next ships ifyou help again. "

"Again? What do you mean by again?"

"It is you, Marie Louise, who sinks the _Clara_. "

Her laugh of incredulity was hardly more than a shiver of dread. 

"_Ja wohl!_ You did told Chake Nuttle vat Davidge tells you. ChakeNuttle tells me. I go and make sink the ship!"

"Jake Nuddle! It was Jake that told you!" Mamise faltered, seeing herfirst vague suspicions damnably confirmed. 

"Sure! Chake Nuttle is my _Leutnant_. He has had much money. He getsmore. He shall be rich man after comes _Der Tag_. It might be we makehim von Nuttle! and you shall be Gräfin von Oesten. "

Mamise was in an abject terror. The thick trees of the park werespooky as the dim light of the car elicited from the black wall ofdark faint details of tree-trunks and naked boughs stark with winter. She was in a hurry to learn the rest and be gone. She spoke with apoor imitation of pride:

"So I have already done something more for Germany. That's splendid. Now tell me what else I can do, for I want to--to get busy rightaway. "

Nicky was too intoxicated with his success to see through her thindisguise. 

"You are close by Davidge. Chake Nuttle tells me he is sveet on you. You have his confidence. You can learn what secrets he has. Next timewe do not vait for ship to be launched and to go for cargo. It mightgo some place ve could not find. 

"So now ve going blow up those ships before they touch vater--ve blowup his whole yard. You shall go beck and take up again your vork, andven all is right I come down and get a job. I dress like vorkman andget into the yard. And I bring in enough bombs to blow up all theships and the cranes and the machines. 

"Chake Nuttle tells me Davidge just gets a plate-bending machine. Forty-five t'ousand dollars it costs him, and long time to get. In oneminute--poof! Ve bend that plate-bender!"

He laughed a great Teutonic laugh and supposed that she was laughing, too. When he had subsided a little, he said:

"So now you know vat you are to make! You like to do so much forChermany, yes?"

"Oh yes! Yes!" said Mamise. 

"You promise to do vat I send you vord?"

"Yes. " She would have promised to blow up the Capitol. 

"_Ach_, how beautiful you are even in the dark! Kiss me!"

Remembering Judith, she paid that odious price, wishing that she mighthave the beast's infamous head with a sword. It was a kiss ofbetrayal, but she felt that it was no Judas-kiss, since Nicky was noChrist. 

He told her more of his plans in detail, and was so childishly proudof his superb achievements, past and future, that she could hardlypersuade him to take her back to the station. He assured her thatthere was abundant time, but she would not trust his watch. Sheexplained how necessary it was for her to return to Washington and toPolly Widdicombe's house before midnight. And at last he yielded toher entreaties, opened the door, and leaned out to tell the driver toturn back. 

Mamise was uneasy till they were out of the park and into the lightedstreets again. But there was no safety here, for as they glided downCharles Street a taxicab going with the reckless velocity of taxicabstried to cut across their path. 

There was a swift fencing for the right of way, and then the two carscame together with a clash and much crumpling of fenders. 

The drivers descended to wrangle over the blame, and Mamise hadvisions of a trip to the police station, with a consequent exposure. But Nicky was alive to the danger of notoriety. He got out and assumedthe blame, taking the other driver's part and offering to pay thedamages. 

The taxicab-driver assessed them liberally at fifty dollars, and Nickyfilled his palm with bills, ordering his own driver to proceed. Thecar limped along with a twisted steering-gear, and Nicky growledthanksgivings over the narrow escape the German Empire had had fromlosing two of its most valuable agents. 

Mamise was sick with terror of what might have been. She saw thecollision with a fatal result, herself and Nicky killed and flung tothe street, dead together. It was not the fear of dying that frozeher soul; it was the posthumous blow she would have given to Davidge'strust in her and all women, the pain she would have inflicted on hislove. For to his dying day he would have believed her false to him, acheap and nasty trickster, sneaking off to another town to arendezvous with another man. And that man a German!

The picture of his bitter disillusionment and of her own unmerited andeternal disgrace was intolerably real in spite of the fact that sheknew it to be untrue, for our imaginations are far more ancient andmore irresistible than our late and faltering reliance on the truth;the heavens and hells we fancy have more weight with our credulitiesthan any facts we encounter. We can dodge the facts or close our eyesto them, but we cannot escape our dreams, whether our eyes are wide orsealed. 

Mamise could not free herself of this nightmare till she had biddenNicky good-by the last time and left him in the cab outside thestation. 

Further nightmares awaited her, for in the waiting-room she could notfight off the conviction that the train would never arrive. When itcame clanging in on grinding wheels and she clambered aboard, she knewthat it would be wrecked, and the finding of her body in the débris, or its disappearance in the flames, would break poor Davidge's heartand leave her to the same ignominy in his memory. 

While the train swung on toward Washington, she added another tormentto her collection: how could she save Davidge from Nicky withoutbetraying her sister's husband into the hands of justice? What righthad she to tell Davidge anything when her sacred duty to her familyand her poor sister must first be heartlessly violated?

BOOK VII

AT THE SHIPYARD

[Illustration: Nobody recognized the lily-like beauty of Miss Webling inthe smutty-faced passer-boy crouching at Sutton's elbow. ]

CHAPTER I

Mamise was astounded by the altered aspect of her own soul, for peoplecan on occasion accomplish what the familiar Irish drillmaster invitedhis raw recruits to do--"Step out and take a look at yourselves. "

Also, like the old lady of the nursery rhymes whose skirts were cutoff while she slept, Mamise regarded herself with incredulity andexclaimed:

"Can this be I?"

If she had had a little dog at home, it would have barked at her inunrecognition and convinced her that she was not herself. 

What astounded her was the realization that the problem of disregardingeither her love or her duty was no longer a difficult problem. InLondon, when she had dimly suspected her benefactors, the Weblings, of betraying the trust that England put in them, she had abhorredthe thought of mentioning her surmise to any one who might harm them. Later, at the shipyard, when she had suspected her sister's husband ofdisloyalty, she had put away the thought of action because it wouldinvolve her sister's ruin. But now, as she left Baltimore, convincedthat her sister's husband was in a plot against her lover and hercountry, she felt hardly so much as a brake on her eagerness for thesacrifice of her family or herself. The horror had come to be a solemnduty so important as to be almost pleasant. She was glad to havesomething at last to give up for her nation. 

The thorough change in her desires was due to a complete change inher soul. She had gradually come to love the man whose prosperity wasthreatened by her sister's husband, and her vague patriotism had beenstirred from dreams to delirium. Almost the whole world wasundergoing such a war change. The altar of freedom so shiningwhite had recently become an altar of sacrifice splashed with theblood of its votaries. Men were offering themselves, casting fromthem all the old privileges of freedom, the hopes of success in loveand business, and submitting to discipline, to tyranny, to vilehardships. Wives and mothers were hurrying their men to theslaughter; those who had no men to give or men too weak for thetrenches or unwilling to go were ashamed of themselves because theywere missing from the beadroll of contributors. 

Mamise had become fanatic with the rest. She had wished to buildships, and had been refused more than a stenographer's share in theprocess. Next she had planned to go to the firing-line herself andoffer what gift she had--the poor little gift of entertaining thesoldiers with the vaudeville stunts she had lived down. And while shewaited for a passport to join the army of women in France, she foundat hand an opportunity to do a big deed, to thwart the enemy, to saveships and all the lives that ships alone could save. The price wouldbe the liberty and what little good name her sister's husband had; itwould mean protests and tears from her poor sister, whom life haddealt with harshly enough already. 

But Mamise counted the cost as nothing compared to what it would buy. She dared not laugh aloud in the crowded chair-car, but her innerbeing was shaken with joy. She had learned to love Davidge and toadore that strange, shapeless idea that she called her country. Instead of sacrificing her lover to her people, she could serve bothby the same deed. She was wildly impatient for the moment when shecould lay before Davidge the splendid information she had secured atthe expense of a few negligible lies. If they should cost her a decadein purgatorial torments, she would feel that they were worth it. 

She reached Washington at a little after eleven and Grinden Hallbefore midnight. Now as she stood on the portico and looked across theriver at the night-lit city, she felt such a pride as she had neverknown. 

She waved a salutation to the wraith of a town, her mind, if not herlips, voicing the words:

"You owe me something, old capital. You'll never put up any statues tome or carve my name on any tablets, but I'm doing something for youthat will mean more than anybody will ever realize. "

She turned and found the black maid gaping at her sleepily andwondering what invisible lover she was waving at. Mamise made noexplanation, but went in, feeling a trifle foolish, but divinely so. 

Polly got out of bed and came all bundled up to Mamise's room todemand an accounting. 

"I was just on the point of telephoning the police to see if you hadbeen found in the river. "

Mamise did not bother either to explain her past lies or tell any newones. She majestically answered:

"Polly darling, I have been engaged in affairs of state, which I amnot at liberty to divulge to the common public. "

"Rot!" said Polly. "I believe the 'affairs, ' but not the 'state. '"

Mamise was above insult. "Some day you will know. You've heard ofHelen of Troy, the lady with the face that launched a thousandships? Well, this face of mine will launch at least half a dozenfreight-boats. "

Polly yawned. "I'll call my doctor in the morning and have you takenaway quietly. Your mind's wandering, as well as the rest of you. "

Mamise chuckled like a child with a great secret, and Polly waddledback to her bed. 

Next morning Mamise woke into a world warm with her own importance, though the thermometer was farther down than Washington's oldestrecords. She called Davidge on the long-distance telephone, and therewas a zero in his voice that she had never heard before. 

"This is Mamise, " she sang. 

"Yes?" Simply that and nothing more. 

She laughed aloud, glad that he cared enough for her to be so angry ather. She forgot the decencies of telephone etiquette enough to singout:

"Do you really love me so madly?"

He loathed sentimentalities over the telephone, and she knew it, andwas always indulging in them. But the fat was on the wire now, and hecame back at her with a still icier tone:

"There's only one good excuse for what you've done. Are youtelephoning from a hospital?"

"No, from Polly's. "

"Then I can't imagine any excuse. "

"But you're a business man, not an imaginator, " she railed. "Youevidently don't know me. I'm 'Belle Boyd, the Rebel Spy, ' and also'Joan of Arkansas, ' and a few other patriots. I've got news for youthat will melt the icicles off your eyebrows. "

"News?" he answered, with no curiosity modifying his anger. 

"War news. May I come down and tell you about it?"

"This is a free country. "

"Fine! You're simply adorable when you try to sulk. What time would bemost convenient?"

"I make no more appointments with you, young woman. "

"All right. Then I'll wait at my shanty till you come. "

"I was going to rent it. "

"You just dare! I am coming back to work. The strike is over. "

"You'd better come to the office as soon as you get here. "

"All right. Give my love to Miss Gabus. "

She left the telephone and set about packing her things in a fury. Polly reminded her that she had appointments for fittings atdressmakers'. 

"I never keep appointments, " said Mamise. "You can cancel them for metill this cruel war is over. Have the bills sent to me at theshipyard, will you, dear? Sorry to bother you, but I've barely time tocatch my train. "

Polly called her a once unmentionable name that was coming intofashionable use after a long exile. Women had draped themselves in acertain animal's pelt with such freedom and grace for so many yearsthat its name had lost enough of its impropriety to be spoken, and nottoo much to express disapproval. 

"You skunk!" said Polly. And Mamise laughed. Everything made her laughnow; she was so happy that she began to cry. 

"Why the crocodiles?" said Polly. "Because you're leaving me?"

"No, I'm crying because I didn't realize how unhappy I had always beenbefore I am as happy as I am now. I'm going to be useful at last, Polly. I'm going to do something for my country. "

She was sharing in that vast national ecstasy which is calledpatriotism and which turns the flames of martyrdom into roses. 

When Mamise reached the end of her journey she found Davidge waitingfor her at the railroad station with a limousine. 

His manner was studiously insulting, but he was helplessly glad to seeher, and the humiliation he had suffered from her failure to keep herengagements with him in Washington was canceled by the tribute of herreturn to him. The knot of his frown was solved by the mischief of hersmile. He had to say:

"Why didn't you meet me at luncheon?"

"How could I prevent the Potomac from putting the old bridge out ofcommission?" she demanded. "I got there in time, but they wouldn't letme across, and by the time I reached the hotel you had gone, and Ididn't know where to find you. Heaven knows I tried. "

The simplicity of this explanation deprived him of every excuse forfurther wrath, and he was not inspired to ask any further questions. He was capable of nothing better than a large and stupid:

"Oh!"

"Wait till you hear what I've got to tell you. "

But first he disclosed a little plot of his own with a comfortableguiltiness:

"How would you like, " he stammered, "since you say you have news--howwould you like--instead of going to your shanty--I've had a fire builtin it--but--how would you like to take a ride in the car--out into thecountry, you know? Then you could tell me, and nobody would hear orinterrupt. "

She was startled by the similarity of his arrangement to that of NickyEaston, but she approached it with different dread. 

She regretted the broad daylight and the disconcerting landscape. Inthe ride with Nicky she had been enveloped in the dark. Now the skywas lined with unbleached wool. The air was thick with snow withheld, and the snow on the ground took the color of the sky. But the lightwas searching, cynical, and the wayside scenes were revealed with thedespondent starkness of a Russian novel. In this romanceless, colorless dreariness it was not easy for Mamise to gloss over thedetails of her meeting with Nicky Easton. 

There was no escaping this part of the explanation, however, and shecould see how little comfort Davidge took from the news that she hadgone so far to be alone with a former devotee. A man does not want hissweetheart to take risks for him beyond a certain point, and he wouldrather not be saved at all than be saved by her at too high a price. The modern man has a hard time living down the heritage from theten-thousand-year habitude of treating his women like children whocannot be trusted to take care of themselves. 

Mamise had such poor success with the part of her chronicle she wishedto publish that she boggled miserably the part she wanted to handlewith most discretion. As is usual in such cases, the most conspicuousthing about her message was her inability to conceal the fact that shewas concealing something. Davidge's imagination was consequently sobusy that he paid hardly any attention to the tremendous facts she soawkwardly delivered. 

She might as well have told him flat that Nicky would not divulge hisplot except with his arms about her and his lips at her cheeks. Thatwould not have been easy telling, but it was all too easy imaginingfor Davidge. He was thrown into an utter wretchedness by the vision hehad of her surrender to the opportunity and to the undoubtedimportunity of her companion. He had a morbid desire to make herconfess, and confessors have a notorious appetite for details. 

"You weren't riding with Easton alone in the dark all thattime--without--"

She waited for the question as for a bludgeon. Davidge had sometrouble in wielding it. He hated the thought so much that the wordswere unspeakable, and he hunted for some paraphrase. In the sparsethesaurus of his vocabulary he found nothing subtle. He groaned:

"Without his--his making love to you?"

"I wish you wouldn't ask me, " said Mamise. 

"I don't need to. You've answered, " Davidge snarled. "And so willhe. "

Mamise's heart was suddenly a live coal, throbbing with fire andkeenly painful--yet very warm. She had a man who loved her well enoughto hate for her and to avenge her. That was something gained. 

Davidge brooded. It was inconceivably hideous that he should havegiven his heart to this pretty thing at his side only to have herensconce herself in the arms of another man and give him the libertyof her cheeks--Heaven knew, hell knew, what other liberties. He vowedthat he would never put his lips where another man's had been. 

Mamise seemed to feel soiled and fit only for the waste-basket oflife. She had delivered her "message to Garcia, " and Garcia rewardedher with disgust. She waited shame-fast for a moment before she couldeven falter:

"Did you happen to hear the news I brought you? Or doesn't it interestyou?"

Davidge answered with repugnance:

"Agh!"

In her meekness she needed some insult to revive her, and thissufficed. She flared instantly:

"I'm sorry I told you. I hope that Nicky blows up your whole damnedshipyard and you with it; and I'd like to help him!"

Nothing less insane could have served the brilliant effect of thatoutburst. It cleared the sultry air like a crackling thunderbolt. Agentle rain followed down her cheeks, while the overcharged heart ofDavidge roared with Jovian laughter. 

There is no cure for these desperate situations like such anexplosion. It burns up at once the litter of circumstance and leaveshardly an ash. It fuses elements that otherwise resist welding, and itannihilates all minor fears in one great terror that ends in a joyousrelief. 

Mamise was having a noble cry now, and Davidge was sobbing withlaughter--the two forms of recreation most congenial to theirrespective sexes. 

Davidge caught her hands and cooed with such noise that the driveroutside must have heard the reverberations through the glass:

"You blessed child! I'm a low-lived brute, and you're an angel. "

A man loves to call himself a brute, and a woman loves to be called anangel, especially when it is untrue in both cases. 

The sky of their being thus cleansed with rain and thunder, and allblue peace again, they were calm enough by and by to consider the mainbusiness of the session--what was to be done to save the shipyard fromdestruction?

Mamise had to repeat most of what she had told, point by point:

Nicky was not going to wait till the ships were launched or evenfinished. He was impatient to strike a resounding blow at the Americanprogram. Nicky was going to let Mamise know just when the blow was tobe struck, so that she might share in the glory of it when triumphantGermany rewarded her faithful servants in America. Jake Nuddle was totake part in the ship-slaughter for the double privilege of protestingagainst this capitalistic war and of crippling those cruel capitaliststo whom he owed all his poverty--to hear him tell it. 

When Mamise had finished this inventory of the situation Davidgepondered aloud:

"Of course, we ought to turn the case over to the Department ofJustice and the Military and Naval Intelligence to handle, but--"

"But I'd like to shelter my poor sister if I could, " said Mamise. "Ofcourse, I wouldn't let any tenderness for Jake Nuddle stand in the wayof my patriotic duty, for Heaven knows he's as much of a traitor to mypoor sister as he is to everything else that's decent, but I'd like tokeep him out of it somehow. Something might happen to make itpossible, don't you suppose?"

"I might cripple him and send him to a hospital to save his life, "said Davidge. 

"Anything to keep him out of it, " said Mamise. "If I should tell theauthorities, though, they'd put him in jail right away, wouldn'tthey?"

"Probably. And they'd run your friend Nicky down and intern him. ThenI'd lose my chance to lay hands on him as--"

"As he did on you, " was what he started to say, but he stopped intime. 

This being Davidge's fierce desire, he found plenty of justificationfor it in other arguments. In the first place, there was no tellingwhere Nicky might be. He had given Mamise no hint of his headquarters. She had neglected to ask where she could reach him, and had beeninstructed simply to wait till he gave her the signal. No doubt hecould be picked up somewhere in the enormous, ubiquitous net withwhich America had been gradually covered by the secret services and bythe far-flung line of the American Protective League made up ofprivate citizens. But there would be a certain unsatisfactorinessabout nipping his plot so far from even the bud. Prevention is wisdom, but it lacks fascination. 

And supposing that they found Nicky, what evidence had they againsthim, except Mamise's uncorroborated statement that he had discussedcertain plots with her? Enemy aliens could be interned without trial, but that meant a halcyon existence for Nicky and every comfort exceptliberty. This was not to be considered. Davidge had a personal grudge, too, to satisfy. He owed Nicky punishment for sinking the ship namedafter Davidge's mother and for planning to sink the ship he was namingafter the woman he hoped to make his wife. 

Davidge was eager to seize Nicky in the very act of planting historpedo and hoist him with his own petard. So he counseled a plan ofwaiting further developments. Mamise was the more willing, since itdeferred the hateful moment when Jake Nuddle would be exposed. She hada hope that things might so happen as to leave him out of thedénouement entirely. 

And now Davidge and Mamise were in perfect agreement, conspiratorsagainst a conspiracy. And there was the final note of the terrible intheir compact: their failure meant the demolition of all those growingships, the nullification of Davidge's entire contribution to the war;their success would mean perhaps the death of Easton and theblackening of the name of Mamise's sister and her sister's children. 

The solemnity of the outlook made impossible any talk of love. Davidgeleft Mamise at her cottage and rode back to his office, feeling likethe commander of a stockade in the time of an Indian uprising. Mamisefound that his foresight had had the house warmed for her; and therewere flowers in a jar. She smiled at his tenderness even in his wrath. But the sight of the smoke rolling from the chimney had caught the eyeof her sister, and she found Abbie waiting to welcome her. 

The two rushed to each other with the affection of blood-kin, butMamise felt like a Judas when she kissed the sister she was planningto betray. Abbie began at once to recite a catalogue of troubles. Theywere sordid and petty, but Mamise shivered to think how real a tragedyimpended. She wondered how right she was to devastate her sister'slife for the sake of a cause which, after all, was only the imaginedwelfare of millions of total strangers. She could not see the nationfor the people, but her sister was her sister, and pitifully human. That was the worst wrench of war, the incessant compulsions to tearthe heart away from its natural moorings. 

CHAPTER II

Davidge thought it only fair to take the Department of Justiceoperative, Larrey, into his confidence. Larrey was perfectly willingto defer reporting to his office chief until the more dramaticconclusion; for he had an easily understandable ambition to share inthe glory of it. It was agreed that a closer watch than ever should bekept on the shipyard and its approaches. Easton had promised to notifyMamise of his arrival, but he might grow suspicious of her and strikewithout warning. 

The period of waiting was as maddening as the suspense of the poorinsomniac who implored the man next door to "drop the other shoe. "Mamise suffered doubly from her dual interest in Abbie and in Davidge. She dared not tell Abbie what was in the wind, though she tried toundermine gradually the curious devotion Abbie bore to her worthlesshusband. But Mamise's criticisms of Jake only spurred Abbie to newdefenses of him and a more loyal affection. 

Day followed day, and Mamise found the routine of the officeintolerably monotonous. Time gnawed at her resolution, and she beganto hope to be away when Easton made his attempt. It occurred to herthat it would be pleasant to have an ocean between her and the crisis. She said to Davidge:

"I wish Nicky would come soon, for I have applied for a passport toFrance. Major Widdicombe got me the forms to fill out, and he promisedto expedite them. I ought to go the minute they come. "

This information threw Davidge into a complex dismay. Here was anotherof Mamise's long-kept secrets. The success of her plan meant the lossof her, or her indefinite postponement. It meant more yet. Hegroaned. 

"Good Lord! everybody in the United States is going to France exceptme. Even the women are all emigrating. I think I'll just turn theshipyard over to the other officers of the corporation and go withyou. Let Easton blow it up then, if he wants to, so long as I get intothe uniform and into the fighting. "

This new commotion was ended by a shocking and unforeseen occurrence. The State Department refused to grant Mamise a passport, and dazedWiddicombe by letting him know confidentially that Mamise was on thered list of suspects because of her Germanized past. This was news toWiddicombe, and he went to Polly in a state of bewilderment. 

Polly had never told him what Mamise had told her, but she had to letout a few of the skeletons in Mamise's closet now. Widdicombe feltcompromised in his own loyalty, but Polly browbeat him intosubmission. She wrote to Mamise and broke the news to her as gently asshe could, but the rebuff was cruel. Mamise took her sorrow toDavidge. 

He was furious and proposed to "go to the mat" with the StateDepartment. Mamise, however, shook her head; she saw that her onlyhope of rehabilitation lay in a positive proof of her fidelity. 

"I got my name stained in England because I didn't have the pluck todo something positive. I was irresolution personified, and I'm payingfor it. But for once in my life I learned a lesson, and when I learnedwhat Nicky planned I ran right to you with it. Now if we catch Nickyred-handed, and I turn over my own brother-in-law to justice, thatought to redeem me, oughtn't it?"

Davidge had a better idea for her protection. "Marry me, and then theycan't say anything. "

"Then they'll suspect you, " she said. "Too many good Americans havebeen dragged into hot water by pro-German wives, and I'm not going tomarry you till I can bring you some other dower than a spottedreputation. "

"I'd take you and be glad to get you if you were as polka-dotted as aleopardess, " said Davidge. 

"Just as much obliged; but no, thank you, " said Mamise. "Furthermore, if we were married, the news would reach Nicky Easton through JakeNuddle, and then Nicky would lose all trust in me, and come down on uswithout warning. "

"This makes about the fifteenth rejection I've had, " said Davidge. "And I'd sworn never to ask you again. "

"I promised to ask you when the time was ripe, " said Mamise. 

"Don't forget. Barkis is always willin' and waitin'. "

"While we're both waiting, " Mamise went on, "there's one thing you'vegot to do for me, or I'll never propose to you. "

"Granted, to the half my shipyard. "

"It's only a job in your shipyard. I can't stand this typewriter-tappingany longer. I'm going mad. I want to swing a hammer or something. Youtold me that women could build a whole ship if they wanted to, and Iwant to build my part of one. "

"But--"

"If you speak of my hands, I'll prove to you how strong they are. Besides, if I were out in the yard at work, I could keep a betterwatch for Nicky, and I could keep you better informed as to thetroubles always brewing among the workmen. "

"But--"

"I'm strong enough for it, too. I've been taking a lot of exerciserecently to get in trim. If you don't believe me, feel that muscle. "

She flexed her biceps, and he took hold of it timidly in its silkensleeve. It amazed him, for it was like marble. Still, he hated to loseher from the neighborliness of the office; he hated to send her outamong the workmen with their rough language and their undoubtedreadiness to haze her and teach her her place. But she was stubbornand he saw that her threat was in earnest when she said:

"If you don't give me a job, I'll go to some other company. "

Then he yielded and wrote her a note to the superintendent of theyard, and said:

"You can begin to-morrow. "

She smiled in her triumph and made the very womanly comment: "But Ihaven't a thing to wear. Do you know a good ladies' tailor who can fitme out with overalls, some one who has been 'Breeches-maker to theQueen' and can drape a baby-blue denim pant modishly?"

The upshot of it was that she decided to make her own trousseau, andshe went shopping for materials and patterns. She ended by visiting anemporium for "gents' furnishings. " The storekeeper asked her whatsize her husband wore, and she said:

"Just about my own. "

He gave her the smallest suit in stock, and she held it up againsther. It was much too brief, and she was heartened to know that therewere workmen littler than she. 

She bought the garment that came nearest to her own dimensions, andhurried home with it joyously. It proved to be a perfect misfit, andshe worked over it as if it were a coming-out gown; and indeed it washer costume for her début into the world of manual labor. 

Abbie dropped in and surprised her in her attitudes and was handsomelyscandalized:

"When's the masquerade?" she asked. 

Mamise told her of her new career. 

Abbie was appalled. "It's against the Bible for a woman to wear aman's things!" she protested. Abbie could quote the Scripture forevery discouraging purpose. 

"I'd rather wear them than wash them, " said Mamise; "and if you'lltake my advice you'll get a suit of overalls yourself and earn anhonest living and five times as much money as Jake would give you--ifhe ever gave you any. "

But Abbie wailed that Mamise had gone indecent as well as crazy, andtrembled at the thought of what the gossips along the row would dowith the family reputation. The worst of it was that Mamise had moneyin the bank and did not have to work. 

That was the incomprehensible thing to Jake Nuddle. He accepted thefamiliar theory that all capital is stolen goods, and he reproachedMamise with the double theft of poor folks' money and now of poorfolks' work. Mamise's contention that there were not enough workmenfor the country's needs fell on deaf ears, for Jake believed that workwas a crime against the sacred cause of the laboring-man. His ideal ofa laboring-man was one who seized the capital from the capitalists andthen ceased to labor. 

But Jake's too familiar eyes showed that he regarded Mamise as a veryinteresting spectacle. The rest of the workmen seemed to have the sameopinion when she went to the yard in her overalls next morning. Shewas the first woman to take up man's work in the neighborhood, and shehad to endure the most searching stares, grins, frowns, and commentsthat were meant to be overheard. 

She struck all the men as immodest; some were offended and some weredelighted. As usual, modesty was but another name for conformity. Mamise had to face the glares of the conventional wives and daughtersin their bodices that followed every contour, their light skirts thatblew above the knees, and their provocative hats and ribbons. Theymade it plain to her that they were outraged by this shapelesspasser-by in the bifurcated potato-sack, with her hair tucked up undera vizored cap and her hands in coarse mittens. 

Mamise had studied the styles affected by the workmen as if they werefashion-plates from Paris, and she had equipped herself with a slouchycap, heavy brogans, a thick sweater, a woolen shirt, and thickflannels underneath. 

She was as well concealed as she could manage, and yet her femininityseemed to be emphasized by her very disguise. The roundness of bosomand hip and the fineness of shoulder differed too much from themasculine outline to be hidden. And somehow there was more coquetry inher careful carelessness than in all the exaggerated womanishness ofthe shanty belles. She had been a source of constant wonder to thecommunity from the first. But now she was regarded as a downrightmenace to the peace and the morals of society. 

Mamise reported to the superintendent and gave him Davidge's card. Theold man respected Davidge's written orders and remembered the privateinstructions Davidge had given him to protect Mamise from annoyance atall costs. The superintendent treated her as if she were a childplaying at salesmanship in a store. And this was the attitude of allthe men except a few incorrigible gallants, who tried to startflirtations and make movie dates with her. 

Sutton, the master riveter, alone received her with just the righthospitality. He had no fear that she would steal his job or his gloryor that any man would. He had talked with her often and let herpractise at his riveting-gun. He had explained that her ambition to bea riveter was hopeless, since it would take at least three month'sapprenticeship before she could hope to begin on such a career. Buther sincere longings to be a builder and not a loafer won hisrespect. 

When she expressed a shy wish to belong to his riveting-gang he said:

"Right you are, miss--or should I say mister?"

"I'd be proud if you'd call me bo, " said Mamise. 

"Right you are, bo. We'll start you in as a passer-boy. I'll be gladto get rid of that sleep-walker. Hay, Snotty!" he called to a grimylad with an old bucket. The youth rubbed the back of his greasy gloveacross the snub of nose that had won him his name, and, shifting hisprecocious quid, growled:

"Ah, what!"

"Ah, go git your time--or change to another gang. Tell the supe. I'mnot fast enough for you. Go on--beat it!"

Mamise saw that she already had an enemy. She protested againstdisplacing another toiler, but Sutton told her that there were jobsenough for the cub. 

He explained the nature of Mamise's duties, talking out of one side ofhis mouth and using the other for ejaculations of an apparentlyinexhaustible supply of tobacco-juice. Seeing that Mamise's startledeyes kept following these missiles, he laughed:

"Do you use chewin'?"

"I don't think so, " said Mamise, not quite sure of his meaning. 

"Well, you'll have to keep a wad of gum goin', then, for you cert'n'yneed a lot of spit in this business. "

Mamise found this true enough, and the next time Davidge saw her shekept her grinders milling and used the back of her glove with aprofessional air. For the present, however, she had no brain-cells tospare for mastication. Sutton introduced her to his crew. 

"This gink here with the whiskers is Zupnik; he's the holder-on; hehandles the dolly and hangs on to the rivets while I swat 'em. Thepill over by the furnace is the heater; his name is Pafflow, and hisjob is warming up the rivets. Just before they begin to sizzle heyanks 'em out with the tongs and throws 'em to you. You ketch 'em inthe bucket--I hope, and take 'em out with your tongs and put 'em inthe rivet-hole, and then Zupnik and me we do the rest. And what do wecall you? Miss Webling is no name for a workin'-man. "

"My name is Marie Louise. "

"Moll is enough. "

And Moll she was thenceforth. 

The understanding of Mamise's task was easier than its performance. Pafflow sent the rivets to her fast and fleet, and they were red-hot. The first one passed her and struck Sutton. His language blistered. The second sizzled against her hip. The third landed in the pail witha pleasant clink, but she was so slow in getting her tongs about it, and fitting it into its place, that it was too cold for use. Thisthrew her into a state of hopelessness. She was ready to resign. 

"I think I'd better go back to crocheting, " she sighed. 

Sutton gave her a playful shove that almost sent her off theplatform:

"Nah, you don't, Moll. You made me chase Snotty off the job, andyou're goin' t'rough wit' it. You ain't doin' no worse 'n I donemeself when I started rivetin'. Cheese! but I spoiled so much work Igot me tail kicked offen me a dozen times!"

This was politer language than some that he used. His conversation wasinterspersed with words that no one prints. They scorched Mamise'sears like red-hot rivets at first, but she learned to accept them asmere emphasis. And, after all, blunt Anglo-Saxon never did any harmthat Latin paraphrase could prevent. 

The main thing was Sutton's rough kindliness, his splendid efficiency, and his infinite capacity for taking pains with each rivet-head, hammering it home, then taking up his pneumatic chipping-tool to trimit neat. That is the genius and the glory of the artisan, to perfecteach detail _ad unguem_, like a poet truing up a sonnet. 

Sutton was putting in thousands on thousands of rivets a month, andevery one of them was as important to him as every other. He fearedthe thin knife-blade of the rivet-tester as the scrupulous writerdreads the learned critic's scalpel. 

Mamise was dazed to learn that the ship named after her would neednearly half a million rivets, each one of them necessary to thecraft's success. The thought of the toil, the noise, the sweat, the money involved made the work a sort of temple-building, andthe thought of Nicky Easton's ability to annul all that devoutaccomplishment in an instant nauseated her like a blasphemy. Shefelt herself a priestess in a holy office and renewed her flaggingspirits with prayers for strength and consecration. 

But few of the laborers had Sutton's pride or Mamise's piety in thework. Just as she began to get the knack of catching and placing therivets Pafflow began to register his protest against her sex. He tooka low joy in pitching rivets wild, and grinned at her dancing lungesafter them. 

Mamise would not tattle, but she began again to lose heart. Sutton'srestless appetite for rivets noted the new delay, and he grasped thecause of it at once. His first comment was to walk over to the furnaceand smash Pafflow in the nose. 

"You try any of that I. W. W. Sabotodge here, you----, and I'll stuffyou in a rivet-hole and turn the gun loose on you. "

Pafflow yielded first to force and later to the irresistible power ofMamise's humility. Indeed, her ardor for service warmed hisindifferent soul at last, and he joined with her to make a brilliantteam, hurtling the rivets in red arcs from the coke to the pail withthe precision of a professional baseball battery. 

Mamise eventually acquired a womanly deftness in plucking up the rivetand setting it in place, and Davidge might have seen grounds foruneasiness in her eager submissiveness to Sutton as she knelt beforehim, watched his eye timidly, and glowed like coke under the leastbreath of his approval. 

CHAPTER III

Sutton was a mighty man in his way, and earning a wage that would havebeen accounted princely a year before. All the workers were receivingimmense increase of pay, but the champion riveters were lavishlyrewarded. 

The whole shipyard industry was on a racing basis. Plans were beinglaid to celebrate the next Fourth of July with an unheard-of number oflaunchings. Every boat-building company was trying to put overboard anabsolute maximum of hulls on that day. 

"Hurry-up" Hurley, who had driven the first rivets into a steel shippneumatically, and Charles M. Schwab, of Bethlehem, were the inspiringleaders in the rush, and their ambition was to multiply the nationaloutput by ten. The spirit of emulation thrilled all the thrillableworkmen, but the riveters were the spectacular favorites. Their namesappeared in the papers as they topped each other's scores, and Suttonkept outdoing himself. For special occasions he groomed himself like arace-horse, resting the day before the great event and then givinghimself up to a frenzy of speed. 

On one noble day of nine hours' fury he broke the world's recordtemporarily. He drove four thousand eight hundred and seventy-fivethree-quarter-inch rivets into place. Then he was carried away to atwenty-four-hour rest, like an exhausted prizefighter. 

That was one of the great days in Mamise's history, for she waspermitted to assist in the achievement, and she was not entirelygrateful to Davidge for suppressing the publication of her namealongside Sutton's. Her photograph appeared with his in many of thesupplements, but nobody recognized the lily-like beauty of MissWebling in the smutty-faced passer-boy crouching at Sutton's elbow. The publication of her photograph as an English belle had madehistory for her, in that it brought Jake Nuddle into her life; butthis picture had no follow-up except in her own pride. 

This rapture, however, long postdated her first adventure into theshipyard. That grim period of eight hours was an alternation of shame, awkwardness, stupidity, failure, fatigue, and despair. 

She did not even wash up for lunch, but picked her fodder from herpail with her companions. She smoked a convivial cigarette with thegang and was proud as a boy among grown-ups. She even wanted to betough and was tempted to use ugly words in a swaggering pride. 

But after her lunch it was almost impossible for her to get up and goback to her task, and she would have fainted from sheer wearinessexcept that she had forsworn such luxuries as swoons. 

The final whistle found her one entire neuralgia. The unending use ofthe same muscles, the repetition of the same rhythmic series, thecranium-shattering clatter of all the riveting-guns, the anxiety to besure of each successive rivet, quite burned her out. And she learnedthat the reward for this ordeal was, according to the minimumwage-scale adopted by the Emergency Fleet Corporation, thirty cents anhour for eight hours, with a ten-per-cent. Increase for a six-dayweek. This would amount to all of two dollars and sixty-four cents forthe day, and fifteen dollars for the week!

It was munificent for a passer-boy, but it was ruinous for a youngwoman of independent fortune and an ambition to look her best. Shegasped with horror when she realized the petty reward for suchprolonged torment. She was too weary to contrast the wage with theprices of food, fuel, and clothing. While wages climbed expensessoared. 

She understood as never before, and never after, why labor isdiscontent and why it is so easily stirred to rebellion, why it feelsitself the exploited slave of imaginary tyrants. She went to bed ateight and slept in the deeps of sweat-earned repose. 

The next morning, getting up was like scourging a crowd of fagged-outchildren to school. All her limbs and sundry muscles whose existenceshe had never realized before were like separate children, each achingand wailing: "I can't! I won't!"

But the lameness vanished when she was at work again, and her sinewsbegan to learn their various trades and to manage them automatically. She grew strong and lusty, and her task grew easy. She began tounderstand that while the employee has troubles enough and to spare, he has none of the torments of leadership; he is not responsible forthe securing of contracts and materials, for borrowings of capitalfrom the banks, or for the weekly nightmare of meeting the pay-roll. There are two hells in the cosmos of manufacture: the dark pit wherethe laborer fights the tiny worms of expense and the dizzy crags wherethe employer battles with the dragons of aggregates. 

Mamise saw that most of the employees were employees because theylacked the self-starter of ambition. They were lazy-minded, and eventheir toiling bodies were lazy. For all their appearance of effortthey did not ordinarily attain an efficiency of thirty per cent. Oftheir capabilities. The turnover in employment was three times what itshould have been. Three hundred men were hired for every hundredsteadily at work, and the men at work did only a third of the workthey could have done. The total wastefulness of man rivaled theghastly wastefulness of nature with spawn and energy. 

The poor toilers were more reckless, more shiftless, relatively moredissipated, than the idle rich, for the rich ordinarily squanderedonly the interest on their holdings, while the laborer wasted hiscapital in neglecting to make full use of his muscle. The risks theytook with life and limb were amazing. 

On Saturdays great numbers quit work and waited for their pay. OnMondays the force was greatly reduced by absentees nursing thehang-over from the Sunday drunk, and of those that came to work somany were unfit that the Monday accident increase was proverbial. 

The excuse of slavery or serfdom was no longer legitimate, though itwas loudly proclaimed by the agitators, the trade-union editors, andthe parlor reformers. For, say what they would, labor could resign orstrike at will; the laborer had his vote and his equality ofopportunity. He was free even from the ordinary obligations, fornobody expected the workman to make or keep a contract for hisservices after it became inconvenient to him. 

There were bad sports among them, as among the rich and the classesbetween. There were unions and individuals that were tyrants in powerand cry-babies in trouble. There was much cruelty, trickery, anddespotism inside the unions--ferocious jealousy of union againstunion, and mutual destructiveness. 

This was, of course, inevitable, and it only proved that lying, cheating, and bullying were as natural to the so-called "laborer" asto the so-called "capitalist. " The folly is in making the familiardistinction between them. Mamise saw that the majority of manuallaborers did not do a third of the work they might have done and sheknew that many of the capitalists did three times as much as they hadto. 

It is the individual that tells the story, and Mamise, who had knownhard-working, firm-muscled men, and devoted mothers and pure daughtersamong the rich, found them also among the poor, but intermingled here, as above, with sots, degenerates, child-beaters, and wantons. 

Mamise learned to admire and to be fond of many of the men and theirfamilies. But she had adventures with blackguards, rakes, and brutes. She was lovingly entreated by many a dear woman, but she was snubbedand slandered by others who were as extravagant, indolent, and immoralas the wives and daughters of the rich. 

But all in all, the ship-builders loafed horribly in spite of thepoetic inspiration of their calling and the prestige of publiclaudation; in spite of the appeals for hulls to carry food to thestarving and troops to the anxious battle-front of Europe. In spitealso of the highest wages ever paid to a craft, they kept theirefficiency at a lower point than lower paid workmen averaged in thelistless pre-war days. Yet there was no lack of outcry that theworkman was throttled and enslaved by the greed of capital. There wasno lack of outcry that profiteers were bleeding the nation to deathand making martyrs of the poor. 

Most of the capitalists had been workmen themselves and had risen fromthe lethargic mass by the simple expedient of using their brains forschemes and making their muscles produce more than the average output. The laborers who failed failed because when they got their eight-hourday they did not turn their leisure to production. And some of themdared to claim that the manual toilers alone produced the wealth andshould alone be permitted to enjoy it, as if it were possible ordesirable to choke off initiative and adventure or to devise a societyin which the man whose ambition is to avoid work will set the pace forthe man who loves it for itself and whose discontent goads him on toself-improvement! As if it were possible or desirable for the man whoworks half-heartedly eight hours a day to keep down the man who workswhole-souledly eighteen hours a day! For time is power. 

Even the benefits the modern laborer enjoys are largely the result ofintervention in his behalf by successful men of enterprise who thrustupon the toiler the comforts, the safeguards, and the very privilegeshe will not or cannot seek for himself. 

During the war the employers of labor, the generals of thesetremendous armies, were everlastingly alert to find some means tostimulate them to do themselves justice. The best artists of thecountry devised eloquent posters, and these were stuck up everywhere, reminding the laborer that he was the partner of the soldier. Oratorsvisited the yards and harangued the men. After each appeal there was abrief spurt of enthusiasm that showed what miracles could beaccomplished if they had not lapsed almost at once into the usualsullen drudgery. 

There were appeals to thrift also. The government needed billions ofdollars, needed them so badly that the pennies of the poorest man mustbe sought for. Few of the workmen had the faintest idea of saving. Thewives of some of them were humbly provident, but many of them weredebt-runners in the shops and wasters in the kitchens. 

A gigantic effort was put forth to teach the American people thrift. The idea of making small investments in government securities wassomething new. Bonds were supposed to be for bankers and plutocrats. Vast campaigns of education were undertaken, and the rich implored thepoor to lay aside something for a rainy day. The rich invented schemesto wheedle the poor to their own salvation. So huge had been thewastefulness before that the new fashion produced billions uponbillions of investments in Liberty Bonds, and hundreds of millions inWar Savings Stamps. 

Bands of missionaries went everywhere, to the theaters, themoving-picture houses, the schools, the shops, the factories, preaching the new gospel of good business and putting it across in thename of patriotism. 

One of these troupes of crusaders marched upon Davidge's shipyard. Andwith it came Nicky Easton at last. 

Easton had deferred his advent so long that Mamise and Davidge hadcome almost to yearn for him with heartsick eagerness. The firstinkling of the prodigal's approach was a visit that Jake Nuddle paidto Mamise late one evening. She had never broached to him the matterof her talk with Easton, waiting always for him to speak of it to her. She was amazed to see him now, and he brought amazement with him. 

"I just got a call on long distance, " he said, "and a certain partytells me you was one of us all this time. Why didn't you put a fellerwise?"

Mamise was inspired to answer his reproach with a better: "Because Idon't trust you, Jake. You talk too much. "

This robbed Jake of his bluster and convinced him that the elusiveMamise was some tremendous super-spy. He became servile at once, andtook pride in being the lackey of her unexplained and unexplainingmajesty. Mamise liked him even less in this rôle than the other. 

She took his information with a languid indifference, as if theterrifying news were simply a tiresome confirmation of what she hadlong expected. Jake was tremulous with excitement and approval. 

"Well, well, who'd 'a' thought our little Mamise was one of themslouch-hounds you read about? I see now why you've been stringin' thatDavidge boob along. You got him eatin' out your hand. And I see nowwhy you put them jumpers on and went out into the yards. You just gotto know everything, ain't you?"

Mamise nodded and smiled felinely, as she imagined a queen of mysterywould do. But as soon as she could get rid of Jake she was like achild alone in a graveyard. 

Jake had told her that Nicky would be down in a few days, and not tobe surprised when he appeared. She wanted to get the news to Davidge, but she dared not go to his rooms so late. And in the morning she wasdue at her job of passing rivets. She crept into bed to rest herdog-tired bones against the morrow's problems. Her dreams were all ofdeath and destruction, and of steel ships crumpled like balls ofpaper thrown into a waste-basket. 

If she had but known it, Davidge was making the rounds of hissentry-line. The guard at one gate was sound asleep. He found twoothers playing cards, and a fourth man dead drunk. 

Inside the yards the great hulls rose up to the moon like thebuttresses of a cliff. Only, they were delicately vulnerable, andEurope waited for them. 

CHAPTER IV

True sleep came to Mamise so late that her alarm-clock could hardlyawaken her. It took all her speed to get her to her post. She darednot keep Sutton waiting, and fear of the time-clock had become a habitwith her. As she caught the gleaming rivets and thrust them into theirsconces, she wondered if all this toil were merely a waste of effortto give the sarcastic gods another laugh at human folly. 

She wanted to find Davidge and took at last the desperate expedient ofpretended sickness. The passer-boy Snotty was found to replace her, and she hurried to Davidge's office. 

Miss Gabus stared at her and laughed. "Tired of your rivetin' a'ready?Come to get your old job back?"

Mamise shook her head and asked for Davidge. He was out--no, not outof town, but out in the yard or the shop or up in the mold-loft orsomewheres, she reckoned. 

Mamise set out to find him, and on the theory that among places tolook for anything or anybody the last should be first she climbed thelong, long stairs to the mold-loft. 

He was not among the acolytes kneeling at the templates; nor was he inthe cathedral of the shop. She sought him among the ships, and cameupon him at last talking to Jake Nuddle, of all people!

Nuddle saw Mamise first and winked, implying that he also was making afool of Davidge. Davidge looked sheepish, as he always did when he wascaught in a benevolent act. 

"I was just talking to your brother-in-law, Miss Webling, " he said, "trying to drive a few rivets into that loose skull. I don't want tofire him, on your account, but I don't see why I should pay an I. W. W. Or a Bolshevist to poison my men. "

Davidge had been alarmed by the indifference of his sentinels. Hethought it imbecile to employ men like Nuddle to corrupt the menwithin, while the guards admitted any wanderer from without. He wasmaking a last attempt to convert Nuddle to industry for Mamise's sake, trying to pluck this dingy brand from the burning. 

"I was just showing Nuddle a little bookkeeping in patriotism, " hesaid. "The Liberty Loan people are coming here, and I want the yard todo itself proud. Some of the men and women are going withoutnecessities to help the government, while Nuddle and some others areworking for the Kaiser. This is the record of Nuddle and his crew:

"'Wages, six to ten dollars a day guaranteed by the government. Investment in Liberty Bonds, nothing; purchases of War Savings Stamps, nothing; contributions to Red Cross, Y. M. C. A. , K. Of C. , J. W. B. , Salvation Army, nothing; contributions to relief funds of the Allies, nothing. Time spent at drill, none; time spent in helping recruiting, none. A clean sheet, and a sheet full of time spent in interferingwith other men's work, sneering at patriotism, saying the Kaiser is noworse than the Allies, pretending that this is a war to please thecapitalists, and that a soldier is a fool. '

"In other words, Nuddle, you are doing the Germans' business, and Idon't intend to pay you American money any longer unless you do morework with your hands and less with your jaw. "

Nuddle was stupid enough to swagger. 

"Just as you say, Davidge. You'll change your tune before long, because us workin'-men, bein' the perdoocers, are goin' to take overall these plants and run 'em to soot ourselves. "

"Fine!" said Davidge. "And will you take over my loans at the banks tomeet the pay-rolls?"

"We'll take over the banks!" said Jake, majestically. "We'll take overeverything and let the workin'-men git their doos at last. "

"What becomes of us wicked plutocrats?"

"We'll have you workin' for us. "

"Then we'll be the workin'-men, and it will be our turn to take overthings and set you plutocrats to workin' for us, I suppose. And we'llbe just where we are now. "

This was growing too seesawy for Nuddle, and he turned surly. 

"Some of you won't be in no shape to take over nothin'. "

Davidge laughed. "It's as bad as that, eh? Well, while I can, I'lljust take over your button. "

"You mean I'm fired?"

"Exactly, " said Davidge, holding out his hand for the badge thatserved as a pass to the yards and the pay-roll. "Come with me, andyou'll get what money's coming to you. "

This struck through Nuddle's thick wits. He cast a glance of dismay atMamise. If he were discharged, he could not help Easton with the grandblow-up. He whined:

"Ain't you no regard for a family man? I got a wife and kids dependenton me. "

"Well, do what Karl Marx did--let them starve or live on their ownmoney while you prove that capital is as he said, 'a vampire of deadlabor sucking the life out of living labor. ' Or feed them on the windyou try to sell me. "

"Aw, have a heart! I talk too much, but I'm all right, " Jake pleaded. 

Davidge relented a little. "If you'll promise to give your mouth aholiday and your hands a little work I'll keep you to the end of themonth. And then, on your way!"

"All right, boss; much obliged, " said Jake, so relieved at his respitethat he bustled away as if victorious, winking shrewdly at Mamise--whowinked back, with some difficulty. 

She waited till he was a short distance off, then she murmured, quickly:

"Don't jump--but Nicky Easton is coming here in the next few days; Idon't know just when. He told Jake; Jake told me. What shall we do?"

Davidge took the blow with a smile:

"Our little guest is coming at last, eh? He promised to see you first. I'll have Larrey keep close to you, and the first move he makes we'lljump him. In the mean while I'll put some new guards on the joband--well, that's about all we can do but wait. "

"I mustn't be seen speaking to you too friendly. Jake thinks I'mfooling you. "

"God help me, if you are, for I love you. And I want you to becareful. Don't run any risks. I'd rather have the whole shipyardsmashed than your little finger. "

"Thanks, but if I could swap my life for one ship it would be the bestbargain I ever bought. Good-by. "

As she ran back to her post Davidge smiled at the womanishness of hergait, and thought of Joan of Arc, never so lovably feminine as in herarmor. 

CHAPTER V

Days of harrowing restiveness followed, Mamise starting at every wordspoken to her, leaping to her feet at every step that passed hercottage, springing from her sleep with a cry, "Who's there!" at everybreeze that fumbled a shutter. 

But nothing happened; nobody came for her. 

The afternoon of the Liberty Loan drive was declared a half-holiday. The guards were doubled at the gates, and watchmen moved among thecrowds; but strangers were admitted if they looked plausible, andseveral motor-loads of them rolled in. Some of them carried bundles ofcirculars and posters and application blanks. Some of them were offoreign aspect, since a large number of the workmen had to beaddressed in other languages than English. 

Mamise drifted from one audience to another. She encountered herteam-mate Pafflow and tried to find a speaker who was using hislanguage. 

At length a voice of an intonation familiar to him threw him into anecstasy. What was jargon to Mamise was native music to him, and shelingered at his elbow, pretending to share his thrill in order toincrease it. 

She felt a twitch at her sleeve, and turned idly. 

Nicky Easton was at her side. Her mind, all her minds, began toconvene in alarm like the crew of a ship attacked. 

"Nicky!" she gasped. 

"No names, pleass! But to follow me quick. "

"I'm right with you. " She turned to follow him. "One minute. " Shestepped back and spoke fiercely to Pafflow. "Pafflow, find Mr. Davidge. Tell him Nicky is here. Remember, _Nicky is here_. It's lifeand death. Find him. "

Pafflow mumbled, "Nicky is here!" and Mamise ran after Nicky, who waslugging a large suit-case. He was quivering with excitement. 

"I didn't knew you in pentaloons, but Chake Nuttle pointet you owit, "he laughed. 

"Wh-where is Jake?"

"He goes ahead vit a boondle of bombs. Nobody is on the _Schiff_. Vecould not have so good a chence again. "

Mamise might have, ought to have, seized him and cried for help; butshe could not somehow throw off the character she had assumed withNicky. She obeyed him in a kind of automatism. Her eyes searched thecrowd for Larrey, who had kept all too close to her of recent days andnights. But he had fallen under the hypnotism of some too eloquentspellbinder. 

Mamise felt the need of doing a great heroic feat, but she could notimagine what it might be. Pending the arrival from heaven of somesuperfeminine inspiration, she simply went along to be in at thedeath. 

Pafflow was a bit stupid and two bits stubborn. He puzzled overMamise's peculiar orders. He wanted to hear the rest of that fieryspeech. He turned and stared after Mamise and noted the way she went, with the foppish stranger carrying the heavy baggage. But he was usedto obeying orders after a little balking, and in time his slow brainstarted him on the hunt for Davidge. He quickened his pace and askedquestions, being put off or directed hither and yon. 

At last he saw the boss sitting on a platform behind whose flutteringbunting a white-haired man was hurling noises at the upturned faces ofthe throng. Pafflow supposed that his jargon was English. 

Getting to Davidge was not easy. But Pafflow was stubborn. He pushedas close to the front as he could, and there a wall of bodies heldhim. 

The orator was checked in full career with almost fatal results by thesudden bellowing of a voice from the crowd below. He supposed that hewas being heckled. He paused among the ruins of his favorite period, and said:

"Well, my friend, what is it?"

Pafflow ignored him and shouted: "Meesta Davutch! O-o-h, MeestaDavutch. Neecky is here. "

Davidge, hearing his name bruited, rose and called into the mob, "What's that?"

"Neecky is here. "

When Davidge understood he was staggered. For a moment he stood in astupor. Then he apologized to the speaker. "An emergency call. Pleaseforgive me and go right on!"

He bowed to the other distinguished guests and left the platform. Pafflow found him and explained. 

"Moll, the passer-boy, my gang, she say find you, life and death, andsay Neecky is here! I doan' know what she means, but now I find you. "

"Which way--where--did you--have you an idea where she went?"

"She go over by new ship _Mamise_--weeth gentleman all dressy up. "

Davidge ran toward the scaffolding surrounding the almost finishedhull. He recognized one or two of his plain-clothes guards and stoppedjust long enough to tell them to get together and search every ship atonce, and to make no excitement about it. 

The scaffolding was like a jungle, and he prowled through it withcaution and desperate speed, up and down the swaying, cleated planksand in and out of the hull. 

He searched the hold first, expecting that Nicky would naturally planthis explosives there. That indeed was his scheme, but Mamise had foundamong her tumbled wits one little idea only, and that was to delayNicky as long as possible. 

She suggested to him that before he began to lay his train of wires heought to get a general view of the string of ships. The best point wasthe top deck, where they were just about to hoist the enormous rudderto the stern-post. 

Nicky accepted the suggestion, and Mamise guided him through thelabyrinth. They had met Jake at the base of the falsework, and he camealong, leaving his bundle. Nicky carried his suit-case with him. Hedid not intend to be separated from it. Jake was always glad to beseparated from work. 

They made the climb, and Nicky's artistic soul lingered to praise thebeautiful day for the beautiful deed. In a frenzy of talk, Mamiseexplained to him what she could. She pointed to the great hatchway forthe locomotives and told him:

"The ship would have been in the water now if it weren't for that bighatch. It set us--the company back ninety days. "

"And now the ship goes to be in the sky in about nine minutes. Comealong once. "

"Look down here, how deep it is!" said Mamise, and led him to theedge. She was ready to thrust him into the pit, but he kept a firmgrip on a rope, and she sighed with regret. 

But Davidge, looking up from the depth of the well, saw Nicky andMamise peering over the edge. His face vanished. 

"Who iss?" said Nicky. "Somebody is below dere. Who iss?"

Mamise said she did not know, and Jake had not seen. 

Nicky was in a flurry. The fire in Davidge's eyes told him thatDavidge was looking for him. There was a dull sound in the hithertosilent ship of some one running. 

Nicky grew hysterical with wrath. To be caught at the very outset ofhis elaborate campaign was maddening. He opened his suit-case, tookout from the protecting wadding a small iron death-machine and held itin readiness. A noble plan had entered his brain for rescuing hisdream. 

Nuddle, glancing over the side, recognized Davidge and told Nicky whoit was that came. When Davidge reached the top deck, he found Nickysmiling with the affability of a floorwalker. 

"Meester Davitch--please, one momend. I holt in my hant a littlemachine to blow us all high-sky if you are so unkind to be impolite. You move--I srow. We all go up togedder in much pieces. Better it isyou come with me and make no trouble, and then I let you safe yourlife. You agree, yes? Or must I srow?"

Davidge looked at the bomb, at Nicky, at Nuddle, then at Mamise. Lifewas sweet here on this high steel crag, with the cheers of the crowdsabout the stands coming faintly up on the delicious breeze. He knewexplosives. He had seen them work. He could see what that handful oflightning in Nicky's grasp would do to this mountain he had built. 

Life was sweet where the limpid river spread its indolent floods farand wide. And Mamise was beautiful. The one thing not sweet and notbeautiful was the triumph of this sardonic Hun. 

Davidge pondered but did not speak. 

With all the superiority of the Kultured German for the untutoredYankee, Nicky said, "Vell?"

Perhaps it was the V that did it. For Davidge, without a word, wentfor him. 

CHAPTER VI

The most tremendous explosives refuse to explode unless some detonatorlike fulminate of mercury is set off first. Each of us has his ownfulminate, and the snap of a little cap of it brings on ourcataclysm. 

It was a pity, seeing how many Germans were alienated from theircountry by the series of its rulers' crimes, and seeing how manyGerman names were in the daily lists of our dead, that the word andthe accent grew so hateful to the American people. It was a pity, butthe Americans were not to blame if the very intonation of a Teutonismmade their ears tingle. 

Davidge prized life and had no suicidal inclinations or temptations. No imaginable crisis in his affairs could have convinced him toself-slaughter. He was brave, but cautious. 

Even now, if Nicky Easton, poising the bombshell with its appallingthreat, had murmured a sardonic "Well?" Davidge would probably havesmiled, shrugged, and said:

"You've got the bead on me, partner. I'm yours. " He would have gonealong as Nicky's prisoner, waiting some better chance to recover hisfreedom. 

But the mal-pronunciation of the shibboleth strikes deep centers ofracial feeling and makes action spring faster than thought. TheSicilians at vespers asked the Frenchmen to pronounce "cheecheree, "and slew them when they said "sheesheree. " So Easton snapped afulminate in Davidge when his Prussian tongue betrayed him into thatimpertinent, intolerable alien "Vell?"

Davidge was helpless in his own frenzy. He leaped. 

Nicky could not believe his eyes. He paused for an instant'sconsideration. As a football-player hesitates a sixteenth of a secondtoo long before he passes the ball or punts it, and so forfeits hisopportunity, so Nicky Easton stood and stared for the length of timeit takes the eyes to widen. 

That was just too long for him and just long enough for Davidge, whowent at him football fashion, hurling himself through the air like avast, sprawling tarantula. Nicky's grip on the bomb relaxed. It fellfrom his hand. Davidge swiped at it wildly, smacked it, and knocked itout of bounds beyond the deck. Then Davidge's hundred-and-eighty-poundweight smote the light and wickery frame of Nicky and sent himcollapsing backward, staggering, wavering, till he, too, wentoverboard. 

Davidge hit the deck like a ball-player sliding for a base, and hewent slithering to the edge. He would have followed Nicky over thehundred-foot steel precipice if Mamise had not flung herself on himand caught his heel. He was stopped with his right arm dangling out inspace and his head at the very margin of the deck. 

In this very brief meanwhile Jake Nuddle, who had been panic-strickenat the sight of the bomb in Nicky's hand, had been backing awayslowly. He would have backed into the abyss if he had not struck astanchion and clutched it desperately. 

And now the infernal-machine reached bottom. It lighted on the hugeblade of the ship's anchor lying on a wharf waiting to be hoisted intoplace. The shell burst with an all-rending roar and sprayed rags ofsteel in every direction. The upward stream caught Nicky in midair andshattered him to shreds. 

Nuddle's whole back was obliterated and half a corpse fell forward, headless, on the deck. Davidge's right arm was ripped from theshoulder and his hat vanished, all but the brim. 

Mamise was untouched by the bombardment, but the downward rain offragments tore her flesh as she lay sidelong. 

The bomb, exploding in the open air, lost much of its efficiency, butthe part of the ship nearest was crumpled like an old tomato-can thata boy has placed on a car track to be run over. 

The crash with its reverberations threw the throngs about thespeakers' stands into various panics, some running away from thevolcano, some toward it. Many people were knocked down and trampled. 

Larrey and his men were the first to reach the deck. They foundDavidge and Mamise in a pool of blood rapidly enlarging as the tornarteries in Davidge's shoulder spouted his life away. A quickapplication of first aid saved him until the surgeon attached to theshipyard could reach him. 

Mamise's injuries were painful and cruel, but not dangerous. OfJake Nuddle there was not enough left to assure Larrey of hisidentification. Of Nicky Easton there was so little trace that thefirst searchers did not know that he had perished. 

Davidge and Mamise were taken to the hospital, and when Davidge wasrestored to consciousness his first words were a groan of awfulsatisfaction:

"I got a German!"

When he learned that he had no longer a right arm he smiled again andmuttered:

"It's great to be wounded for your country. "

Which was a rather inelegant paraphrase of the classic "_Dulce etdecorum_, " but caught its spirit admirably. 

Of Jake Nuddle he knew nothing and forgot everything till some dayslater, when he was permitted to speak to Mamise, in whose welfare hewas more interested than his own, and the story of whose unimportantwounds harrowed him more than his own. 

Her voice came to him over the bedside telephone. After an exchange ofthe inevitable sympathies and regrets and tendernesses, Mamisesighed:

"Well, we're luckier than poor Jake. "

"We are? What happened to him?"

"He was killed, horribly. His pitiful wife! Abbie has been here andshe is inconsolable. He was her idol--not a very pretty one, but idolsare not often pretty. It's too terribly bad, isn't it?"

Davidge's bewildered silence was his epitaph for Jake. Even though hewere dead, one could hardly praise him, though, now that he was dead, Davidge felt suddenly that he must have been indeed the first and theeternal victim of his own qualities. 

Jake had been a complainer, a cynic, a loafer always from his cradleon--indeed, his mother used to say that he nearly kicked her to deathbefore he was born. 

Mamise had hated and loathed him, but she felt now that Abbie had beenrighter than she in loving the wretch who had been dowered with nobeauty of soul or body. 

She waited for Davidge to say something. After a long silence, sheasked:

"Are you there?"

"Yes. "

"You don't say anything about poor Jake. "

"I--I don't know what to say. "

He felt it hateful to withhold praise from the dead, and yet a kind ofhonesty forced him to oppose the habit of lauding all who have justdied, since it cheapened the praise of the dead who deserve praise--orwhat we call "deserve. "

Mamise spoke in a curiously unnatural tone: "It was noble of poor Jaketo give his life trying to save the ship, wasn't it?"

"What's that?" said Davidge, and she spoke with labored precision. 

"I say that you and I, who were the only witnesses, feel sorry thatpoor Jake had to be killed in the struggle with Easton. "

"Oh, I see! Yes--yes, " said Davidge, understanding. 

Mamise went on: "Mr. Larrey was here and he didn't know who Jake wastill I told him how he helped you try to disarm Nicky. It will be afine thing for poor Abbie and her children to remember that, won'tit?"

Davidge's heart ached with a sudden appreciation of the sweet purposeof Mamise's falsehood. 

"Yes, yes, " he said. "I'll give Abbie a pension on his account. "

"That's beautiful of you!"

And so it was done. It pleased a sardonic fate to let Jake Nuddle posein his tomb as the benefactor he had always pretended to be. 

The operative, Larrey, had made many adverse reports against him, butin the blizzard of reports against hundreds of thousands of suspectsthat turned the Department of Justice files into a huge snowdriftthese earlier accounts of Nuddle's treasonable utterances and deedswere forgotten. 

The self-destruction of Nicky Easton took its brief space in thenewspapers overcrowded with horrors, and he, too, was all butforgotten. 

When, after some further time, Mamise was able to call upon Davidge inher wheeled chair, she found him strangely lacking in cordiality. Shewas bitterly hurt at first, until she gleaned from his manner that hewas trying to remove himself gracefully from her heart because of hisdisability. 

She amazed him by her sudden laughter. He was always slow tounderstand why his most solemn or angry humor gave her so muchamusement. 

While her nurse and his were talking at a little distance it pleasedher to lean close to Davidge and tease him excruciatingly with aflirtatious manner. 

"Before very long I'm going to take up that bet we made. "

"What bet?"

"That the next proposal would come from me. I'm going to propose thefirst of next week. "

"If you do, I'll refuse you. "

Though she understood him perfectly, it pleased her to assume a motivehe had never dreamed of. 

"Oh, you mustn't think that I'm going to be an invalid for life. Thedoctor says I'll be as well as ever in a little while. "

Davidge could not see how he was to tell her that he didn't mean thatwithout telling her just what he did mean. In his tormented petulancehe turned his back on her and groaned. 

"Oh, go away and let me alone. "

She was laughing beyond the limits called ladylike as she began towheel her chair toward the door. The nurse ran after her, asking:

"What on earth?"

Mamise assured, "Nothing on earth, but a lot in heaven, " and would notexplain the riddle. 

CHAPTER VII

Davidge was the modern ideal of an executive. He appeared never to doany work. He kept an empty desk and when he was away no one missedhim. He would not use a roll-top desk, but sat at a flat table withnothing on it but a memorandum-pad, a calendar, an "in" and an "out"basket, both empty most of the time. 

He had his work so organized that it went on in his absence as if hewere there. He insisted that the executives of the departments shouldfollow the same rule. If they were struck down in battle their placeswere automatically supplied as in the regular army. 

So when Davidge went to the hospital the office machine went on as ifhe had gone to lunch. 

Mamise called on him oftener than he had called on her. She left thehospital in a few days after the explosion, but she did not step intohis office and run the corporation for him as a well-regulated heroineof recent fiction would have done. She did not feel that she knewenough. And she did not know enough. She kept to her job with theriveting-gang and expected to be discharged any day for lack of pullwith the new boss. 

But while she lasted she was one of the gang, and proud of it. She wasneither masculine nor feminine, but human. As Vance Thompson has said, the lioness is a lion all but a little of the time, and so Mamise putoff sexlessness with her overalls and put it on with her petticoats. She put off the coarseness at the same time as she scrubbed away thegrime. 

The shipyard was still a realm of faery to her. It was an unendingexperience of miracles, commonplace to the men, but wonder-work toher. She had not known what "pneumatic" or "hydraulic" really meant. The acetylene flame-knife, the incomprehensible ability of levers togive out so much more power than was put in them, dazed her. Nothingin the Grimms' stories could parallel the benevolent ogres of air andwater and their dumfounding transformations. 

She learned that machinery can be as beautiful as any other humanstructure. Fools and art-snobs had said that machinery is ugly, andsome of it is indeed nearly as ugly as some canvases, verses, andcathedrals. Other small-pates chattered of how the divine works ofnature shamed the crudities of man. They spoke of the messages of themountains, the sublimities of sunsets, and the lessons taught by theflowerets. These things are impressive, but it ought to be possible togive them praise without slandering man's creations, for a God thatcould make a man that could make a work of art would have to be abetter God than one who could merely make a work of art himself. 

But machinery has its messages, too. It enables the little cave-dwellerto pulverize the mountain; to ship it to Mohammed in Medina; to pick itup and shoot it at his enemies. 

Mamise, at any rate, was so enraptured by the fine art of machinerythat when she saw a traveling-crane pick up a mass of steel and godown the track with it to its place, she thought that no poplar-treewas ever so graceful. And the rusty hulls of the new ships showing thesky through the steel lace of their rivetless sides were fairer thanthe sky. 

Surgeons in steel operated on the battered epidermis of the _Mamise_and sewed her up again. It was slow work and it had all thediscouraging influence of work done twice for one result. But the toilwent on, and when at last Davidge left the hospital he was startled bythe change in the vessel. As a father who has left a little girl athome comes back to find her a grown woman, so he saw an almostfinished ship where he had left a patchwork of iron plates. 

It thrilled him to be back at work again. The silence of the hospitalhad irked his soul. Here the air was full of the pneumatic riveter. They called it the gun that would win the war. The shipyard atmospherewas shattered all day long as if with machine-gun fire and theriveters were indeed firing at Germany. Every red-hot rivet was abullet's worth. 

The cry grew louder for ships. The submarine was cutting down theworld's whole fleet by a third. In February the Germans sank the_Tuscania_, loaded with American soldiers, and 159 of them were lost. Uncle Sam tightened his lips and added the _Tuscania's_ dead soldiersto the _Lusitania's_ men and women and children on the invoice againstGermany. He tightened his belt, too, and cut down his food forEurope's sake. He loosened his purse-strings and poured out gold andbonds and war-savings stamps, borrowing, lending, and spending withthe desperation of a gambler determined to break the bank. 

While Davidge was still in the hospital the German offensive broke. Itsucceeded beyond the scope of the blackest prophecy. It threw the fearof hell into the stoutest hearts. All over the country people wereputting pins in maps, always putting them farther back. Everybodytalked strategy, and geography became the most dreadful of topics. 

On March 29th Pershing threw what American troops were abroad into thegeneral stock, gave them to Haig and Foch to use as they would. 

On the same day the mysterious giant cannon of the Germans sent ashell into Paris, striking a church and killing seventy-fiveworshipers. And it was on a Good Friday that the men of _Gott_ sentthis harbinger of good-will. 

The Germans began to talk of the end of Great Britain, the erasure ofFrance, and the reduction of America to her proper place. 

Spring came to the dismal world again with a sardonic smile. InWashington the flower-duel was renewed between the Embassy terrace andthe Louise Home. The irises made a drive and the forsythia sent up itsbarrage. The wistaria and the magnolia counterattacked. The Senatortook off his wig again to give official sanction to summer and to rubhis bewildered head the better. 

The roving breezes fluttered tragic newspapers everywhere--in theparks, on the streets, on the scaffolds of the buildings, along thetented lanes, and in the barrack-rooms. 

This wind was a love-zephyr as of old. But the world was frosted witha tremendous fear. What if old England fell? Empires did fall. Nineveh, Babylon, and before them Ur and Nippur, and, after, Persiaand Alexander's Greece and Rome. Germany was making the great try torenew Rome's sway; her Emperor called himself the Cæsar. What if heshould succeed?

Distraught by so many successes, the Germans grew frantic. They werediverted from one prize to another. 

The British set their backs to the wall. The French repeated theirVerdun watchword, "No thoroughfare, " and the Americans began to comeup. The Allies were driven finally to what they had always realized tobe necessary, but had never consented to--a unified command. They putall their destinies into the hands of Foch. 

Instantly and melodramatically the omens changed. Foch could live upto his own motto now, "Attack, attack, attack. " He had been like a mangambling his last francs. Now he had word that unlimited funds were onthe way from his Uncle Sam. He did not have to count his money overand over. He could squander it regardless. 

In every direction he attacked, attacked, attacked. The stupefiedworld saw the German hordes checked, driven rearward, here, there, theother place. 

Towns were redeemed, rivers regained, prisoners scooped up by the tenthousand. The pins began a great forward march along the maps. Peoplefought for the privilege of placing them. Geography became the mostfascinating sport ever known. 

Davidge had come from the hospital minus one arm just as the bulletinschanged from grave to gay. He was afraid now that the war would beover before his ships could share the glorious part that ships playedin all this victory. The British had turned all their hulls to theAmerican shores and the American troops were pouring into them inunbelievable floods. 

Secrecy lost its military value. The best strategy that could bedevised was to publish just how many Americans were landing inFrance. 

General March would carry the news to Secretary Baker and he wouldscatter it broadcast through George Creel's Committee on PublicInformation, using telegraph, wireless, telephone, cable, post-office, placard, courier. 

Davidge had always said that the war would be over as soon as theGermans got the first real jolt. With them war was a business and theywould withdraw from it the moment they foresaw a certain bankruptcyahead. 

But there was the war after the war to be considered--the war forcommerce, the postponed war with disgruntled labor and the impatientvarieties of socialists and with the rabid Bolshevists franklyproclaiming their intention to destroy civilization as it stood. 

Like a prudent skipper, Davidge began to trim his ship for the newstorm that must follow the old. He took thought of the rivalries thatwould spring up inevitably between the late Allies, like brothers now, but doomed to turn upon one another with all the greater bitternessafter war. For peace hath her wickedness no less renowned than war. 

What would labor do when the spell of consecration to the war was goneand the pride of war wages must go before a fall? The time would comeabruptly when the spectacle of employers begging men to work at anyprice would be changed to the spectacle of employers having no workfor men--at any price. 

The laborers would not surrender without a battle. They had tastedpower and big money and they would not be lulled by economicexplanations. 

Mamise came upon Davidge one day in earnest converse with a faithfulold toiler who had foreseen the same situation and wanted to know whathis boss thought about it. 

Iddings had worked as a mechanic all his life. He had worked hard, hadlived sober, had turned his wages over to his wife, and spent them onhis home and his children. 

He was as good a man as could be found. Latterly he had been tormentedby two things, the bitterness of increasing infirmities and dwindlingpower and the visions held out to him by Jake Nuddle and the disciplesJake had formed before he was taken away. 

As Mamise came up in her overalls Iddings was saying:

"It ain't right, boss, and you know it. When a man like me works ashard as I done and cuts out all the fun and the booze and then seesold age comin' on and nothin' saved to speak of and no chance to savemore'n a few hundred dollars, whilst other men has millions--why, I'mreadin' the other day of a woman spendin' eighty thousand dollars on afur coat, and my old woman slavin' like a horse all her life and goin'round in a plush rag--I tell you it ain't right and you can't prove itis. "

"I'm not going to try to, " said Davidge. "I didn't build the worldand I can't change it much. I see nothing but injustice everywhere Ilook. It's not only among men, but among animals and insects andplants. The weeds choke out the flowers; the wolves eat up the sheepunless the dogs fight the wolves; the gentle and the kind go underunless they're mighty clever. They call it the survival of thefittest, but it's really the survival of the fightingest. "

"That's what I'm comin' to believe, " said Iddings. "The workman willnever get his rights unless he fights for 'em. "

"Never. "

"And if he wants to get rich he's got to fight the rich. "

"No. He wants to make sure he's fighting his real enemies and fightingwith weapons that won't be boomerangs. "

"I don't get that last. "

"Look here, Iddings, there are a lot of damned fools filling workmen'sheads with insanity, telling them that their one hope of happiness isto drag down the rich, to blow up the factories or take control of'em, to bankrupt the bankers and turn the government upside down. Ifthey can't get a majority at the polls they won't pay any attention tothe polls or the laws. They'll butcher the police and assassinate thebig men. But that game can't win. It's been tried again and again bydiscontented idiots who go out and kill instead of going out to work. 

"You can't get rich by robbing the rich and dividing up their money. If you took all that Rockefeller is said to have and divided it upamong the citizens of the country you'd get four or five dollarsapiece at most, and you'd soon lose that. 

"Rockefeller started as a laboring-man at wages you wouldn't look atto-day. The laboring-men alongside could have made just as much as hedid if they'd a mind to. Somebody said he could have writtenShakespeare's plays if he had a mind to, and Lamb said, 'Yes, if you'da mind to. ' The thing seems to be to be born with a mind to and tocultivate a mind to. 

"You take Rockefeller's money away and he'll make more while you'refumbling with what you've got. Take Shakespeare's plays away and he'llwrite others while you're scratching your head. 

"Don't let 'em fool you, Iddings, into believing that rich men getrich by stealing. We all cheat more or less, but no man ever built upa big fortune by plain theft. Men make money by making it. 

"Karl Marx, who wrote your 'Workmen's Bible, ' called capital avampire. Well, there aren't any vampires except in the movies. 

"Speaking of vamping wealth, did you ever hear how I got where Iam?--not that it's so very far and not that I like to talk aboutmyself--but just to show you how true your man Marx is. 

"I was a working-man and worked hard. I put by a little out of what Imade. Of nights I studied. I learned all ends of the ship-buildingbusiness in a way. But I needed money to get free. It never occurredto me to claim somebody else's money as mine. I thought the rich wouldhelp me to get rich if I helped them to get richer. My idea of gettingcapital was to go get it. I was a long time finding where there wasany. 

"By and by I heard of an old wreck on the coast--a steamer had runaground and the hull was abandoned after they took out what machinerythey could salvage. The hull stood up in the storms and the sand beganto bury it. It would have been 'dead capital' then for sure. 

"The timbers were sound, though, and I found I could buy it cheap. Iput in all I had saved in all my life, eight thousand dollars, for thehull. I got a man to risk something with me. 

"We took the hull off the ground, refitted it, stepped in six masts, and made a big schooner of her. 

"She cost us sixty thousand dollars all told. Before she was ready tosail we sold her for a hundred and twenty thousand. The buyers madebig money out of her. The schooner is carrying food now and givingemployment to sailors. 

"Who got robbed on that transaction? Where did 'dead labor suck thelife out of living labor, ' as Karl Marx says? You could do the same. You could if you would. There's plenty of old hulls lying around onthe sands of the world. "

Iddings had nothing in him to respond to the poetry of this. 

"That's all very fine, " he growled, "but where would I get my start? Igot no eight thousand or anybody to lend me ten dollars. "

"The banks will lend to men who will make money make money. It's notthe guarantee they want so much as inspiration. Pierpont Morgan saidhe lent on character, not on collateral. "

"Morgan, humph!"

"The trouble isn't with Morgan, but with you. What do you do with yournights? Study? study? beat your brains for ideas? No, you go home, tired, play with the children, talk with the wife, smoke, go to bed. It's a beautiful life, but it's not a money-making life. You can'tmake money by working eight hours a day for another man's money. You've got to get out and find it or dig it up. 

"That business with the old hull put me on my feet, put dreams in myhead. I looked about for other chances, took some of them and wished Ihadn't. But I kept on trying. The war in Europe came. The world wascrazy for ships. They couldn't build 'em fast enough to keep ahead ofthe submarines. On the Great Lakes there was a big steamer not doingmuch work. I heard of her. I went up and saw her. The job was to gether to the ocean. I managed it on borrowed money, bought her, andbrought her up the Saint Lawrence to the sea--and down to New York. Imade a fortune on that deal. Then did I retire and smoke my pipe ofpeace? No. I looked for another chance. 

"When our country went into the war she needed ships of her own. Shehad to have shipyards first to build 'em in. My lifelong ambition wasto make ships from the keel-plate up. I looked for the best place toput a shipyard, picked on this spot because other people hadn't foundit. My partners and I got the land cheap because it was swamp. Weworked out our plans, sitting up all night over blue-prints andstudying how to save every possible penny and every possible wastemotion. 

"And now look at the swamp. It's one of the prettiest yards in theworld. The Germans sank my _Clara_. Did I stop or go to makingspeeches about German vampires? No. I went on building. 

"The Germans tried to get my next boat. I fought for her as I'll fightthe Germans, the I. W. W. , the Bolshevists, or any other sneakingcoyotes that try to destroy my property. 

"I lost this right arm trying to save that ship. And now that I'mcrippled, am I asking for a pension or an admission to an old folks'home? Am I passing the hat to you other workers? No. I'm as good asever I was. I made my left arm learn my right arm's business. If Ilose my left arm next I'll teach my feet to write. And if I losethose, by God! I'll write with my teeth, or wigwag my ears. 

"The trouble with you, Iddings, and the like of you is you brood overyour troubles, instead of brooding over ways to improve yourself. Youspend time and money on quack doctors. But I tell you, don't fightyour work or your boss. Fight nature, fight sleep, fight fatigue, fight the sky, fight despair, and if you want money hunt up a placewhere it's to be found. "

If Iddings had had brains enough to understand all this he would nothave been Iddings working by the day. His stubborn response was:

"Well, I'll say the laboring-man is being bled by the capitalists andhe'll never get his rights till he grabs 'em. "

"And I'll say be sure that you're grabbing your rights and notgrabbing your own throat. 

"I'm for all the liberty in the world, for the dignity of labor, thevoice of labor, the labor-union, the profit-sharing basis, therepublic of labor. I think the workers ought to have a voice inrunning the work--all the share they can handle, all the control thatwon't hurt the business. But the business has got to come first, forit's business that makes comfort. I'll let any man run this shop whocan run it as well as I can or better. 

"What I'm against is letting somebody run my business who can't runhis own. Talk won't build ships, old man. And complaints and protestswon't build ships, or make any important money. 

"Poor men are just as good as rich men and ought to have just the samerights, votes, privileges. But the first right a poor man ought topreserve is the right to become a rich man. Riches are beautifulthings, Iddings, and they're worth working for. And they've got to beworked for. 

"A laboring-man is a man that labors, whether he labors for twodollars a day or a thousand; and a loafer is a loafer, whether he hasmillions or dimes. Well, I've talked longer than I ever did before orever will again. Do you believe anything I say?"

"No. "

Davidge had to laugh. "Well, Iddings, I've got to hand it to you forobstinacy; you've got an old mule skinned to death. But old mulescan't compete with race-horses. Balking and kicking won't get you veryfar. "

He walked away, and Mamise went along. Davidge was in a somber mood. 

"Poor old fellow, he's got no self-starter, no genius, no ideas, andhe's doomed to be a drudge. It's the rotten cruelty of the world thatmost people are born without enough get-up-and-get to bring them andtheir work together without a whistle and a time-clock and anoverseer. What scheme could ever be invented to keep poor old Iddingsup to the level of a Sutton or a Sutton down to his?"

Mamise had heard a vast amount of discontented talk among the men. 

"There's an awful lot of trouble brewing. "

"Trouble is no luxury to me, " said Davidge. "Blessed is he thatexpects trouble, for he shall get it. Wait till this war is over andthen you'll see a real war. "

"Shall we all get killed or starved?"

"Probably. But in the mean while we had better sail on and on and on. The storm will find us wherever we are, and there's more danger closeashore than out at sea. Let's make a tour of the _Mamise_ and see howsoon she'll be ready to go overboard. "

CHAPTER VIII

Nicky Easton's attempt to assassinate the ship had failed, but thewounds he dealt her had retarded her so that she missed by many weeksthe chance of being launched on the Fourth of July with the otherships that made the Big Splash on that holy day. The first boat tookher dive at one minute after midnight and eighty-one ships followedher into the astonished sea. 

While the damaged parts of the _Mamise_ were remade, Davidge pushedthe work on other portions of the ship's anatomy, so that when atlength she was ready for the dip she was farther advanced than steelships usually are before they are first let into the sea. 

Her upper works were well along, her funnel was in, and her mast andbridge. She looked from a distance like a ship that had run ashore. 

There was keen rivalry among the building-crews of the ships that grewalongside the _Mamise_, and each gang strove to put its boat overboardin record time. The "Mamisers, " as they called themselves, foughtagainst time and trouble to redeem her from the "jinx" that had sether back again and again. During the last few days the heat wasfurious and the hot plates made an inferno of the work. Then an icyrain set in. The workers would not stop for mean weather, hot orcold. 

Mamise, the rivet-passer, stood to her task in a continual shower-bath. The furnace was sheltered, but the hot rivets must be passed acrossthe rain curtain. Sutton urged her to lay off and give way to Snottyor somebody whose health didn't matter a damn. Davidge ordered herhome, but her pride in her sex and her zest for her ship kept her atwork. 

And then suddenly she sneezed!

She sneezed again and again helplessly, and she was stricken with agreat fear. For in that day a sneeze was not merely the littleexplosion of tickled surfaces or a forewarning of a slight cold. Itwas the alarum of the new Great Death, the ravening lion under thesheep's wool of influenza. 

The world that had seen the ancient horror of famine come stalkingback from the Dark Ages trembled now before the plague. The influenzaswept the world with recurrent violences. 

Men who had feared to go to the trenches were snatched from theiroffices and from their homes. Men who had tried in vain to get intothe fight died in their beds. Women and children perished innumerably. Hearse-horses were overworked. The mysterious, invisible all-enemy didnot spare the soldiers; it sought them in the dugouts, among thereserves, at the ports of embarkation and debarkation, at thetraining-camps. In the hospitals it slew the convalescent wounded andkilled the nurses. 

From America the influenza took more lives than the war itself. 

It baffled science and carried off the doctors. Masks appeared andpeople in offices were dressed in gauze muzzles. In some of the citiesthe entire populace went with bandaged mouths, and a man who wouldsteal a furtive puff of a cigarette stole up a quiet street and kepthis eyes alert for the police. 

Whole families were stricken down and brave women who dared thepestilence found homes where father, mother, and children lay writhingand starving in pain and delirium. 

At the shipyard every precaution was taken, and Davidge fought theunseen hosts for his men and for their families. Mamise had wornherself down gadding the workmen's row with medicines and victuals inher basket. And yet the death-roll mounted and strength was noprotection. 

In Washington and other cities the most desperate experiments insanitation were attempted. Offices were closed or dismissed early. Stenographers took dictation in masks. It was forbidden to crowd thestreet-cars. All places of public assembly were closed, churches noless than theaters and moving-picture shows. It was as illegal to holdprayer-meetings as dances. 

This was the supreme blow at religion. The preachers who had confessedthat the Church had failed to meet the war problems were dazed. Mankind had not recovered from the fact that the world had been made ahell by the German Emperor, who was the most pious of rulers andclaimed to take his crown from God direct. The German Protestants andpriests had used their pulpits for the propaganda of hate. TheCatholic Emperor of Austria had aligned his priests. Catholic andProtestants fought for the Allies in the trenches, unfrocked or intheir pulpits. The Bishop of London was booed as a slacker. The Popewrung his hands and could not decide which way to turn. One Britishgeneral frivolously put it, "I am afraid that the dear old Church hasmissed the bus this trip. "

All religions were split apart and, as Lincoln said of the Civil War, both sides sent up their prayers to the same God, demanding that Hecrush the enemy. 

For all the good the Y. M. C. A. Accomplished, it ended the war withthe contempt of most of the soldiers. Individual clergymen won loveand crosses of war, but as men, not as saints. 

The abandoned world abandoned all its gods, and men fought men in thename of mankind. 

Even against the plague the churchfolk were refused permission to praytogether. Christian Scientists published full pages of advertisingprotesting against the horrid situation, but nobody heeded. 

The ship of state lurched along through the mingled storms, mastless, rudderless, pilotless, priestless, and everybody wondered which wouldlive the longer, the ship or the storm. 

And then Mamise sneezed. And the tiny at-choo! frightened her to thesoul of her soul. It frightened the riveting-crew as well. The plaguehad come among them. 

"Drop them tongs and go home!" said Sutton. 

"I've got to help finish my ship, " Mamise pleaded. 

"Go home, I tell you. "

"But she's to be launched day after to-morrow and I've got to christenher. "

"Go home or I'll carry you, " said Sutton, and he advanced on her. Shedropped her tongs and ran through the gusty rain, across the yard, outof the gate, and down the muddy paths as if a wolf pursued. 

She flung into her cottage, lighted the fires, heated water, drank aquart of it, took quinine, and crept into her bed. Her tremors shookthe covers off. Sweat rained out of her pores and turned to ice-waterwith the following ague. 

The doctor came. Sutton had gone for him and threatened to beat him upif he delayed. The doctor had nothing to give her but orders to stayin bed and wait. Davidge came, and Abbie, and they tried to pretendthat they were not in a worse panic than Mamise. 

There were no nurses to be spared and Abbie was installed. In spite ofher malministrations or because of them, Mamise grew better. Shestayed in bed all that day and the next, and when the morning of thelaunching dawned, she felt so well that Abbie could not prevent herfrom getting up and putting on her clothes. 

She was to be woman again to-day and to wear the most fashionable gownin her wardrobe and the least masculine hat. 

She felt a trifle giddy as she dressed, but she told Abbie that shenever felt better. Her only alarm was the difficulty in hooking herfrock at the waist. Abbie fought them together with all her might andmain. 

"If being a workman is going to take away my waistline, here's where Iquit work, " said Mamise. "As Mr. Dooley says, I'm a pathrite, but I'mno bigot. "

Davidge had told her to keep to her room. He had telephoned to PollyWiddicombe to come down and christen the ship. Polly was delayed andDavidge was frantic. In fact, the Widdicombe motor ran off the roadinto a slough of despond, and Polly did not arrive until after theship was launched from the ways and the foolhardy Mamise was in thehospital. 

When Davidge saw Mamise climbing the steps to the launching-platformhe did not recognize her under her big hat till she paused for breathand looked up, counting the remaining steep steps and wondering if hertottering legs would negotiate the height. 

He ran down and haled her up, scolding her with fury. He had been onthe go all night, and he was raw with uneasiness. 

"I'm all right, " Mamise pleaded. "I got caught in the jam at the gateand was nearly crushed. That's all. It's glorious up here and I'drather die than miss it. "

It was a sight to see. The shipyard was massed with workmen and theirfamilies, and every roof was crowded. On a higher platform in the rearthe reporters of the moving-picture newspapers were waiting with theircameras. On the roof of a low shed a military band was tootlingmerrily. 

And the sky had relented of its rain. The day was a masterpiece ofgood weather. A brilliant throng mounted to the platform, an admiral, sea-captains and lieutenants, officers of the army, a Senator, Congressmen, judges, capitalists, the jubilant officers of theship-building corporation. And Mamise was the queen of the day. Shewas the "sponsor" for the ship and her name stood out on both sides ofthe prow, high overhead where the launching-crew grinned down on herand called her by her _nom de guerre_, "Moll. "

The moving-picture men yelled at her and asked her to pose. She wentto the rail and tried to smile, feeling as silly as a Sunday-schoolgirl repeating a golden text, and looking it. 

Once more she would appear in the Sunday supplements, and her childishconfusion would make throngs in moving-picture theaters laugh withpleasant amusement. Mamise was news to-day. 

The air was full of the hubbub of preparation. Underneath the uprearedbelly of the ship gnomes crouched, pounding the wedges in to lift thehull so that other gnomes could knock the shoring out. 

There was a strange fascination in the racket of the shores fallingover, the dull clatter of a vast bowling-alley after a ten-strike. 

Painters were at work brushing over the spots where the shores hadrested. 

Down in the tanks inside the hull were a few luckless anonymities withsearch-lights, put there to watch for leaks from loose rivet-heads. They would be in the dark and see nothing of the festival. Alwaysthere has to be some one in the dark at such a time. 

The men who would saw the holding-blocks stood ready, as solemn asclergymen. The cross-saws were at hand for their sacred office. Thesawyers and the other workmen were overdoing their unconcern. Mamisecaught sight of Sutton, lounging in violent indifference, but givinghimself away by the frenzy of his jaws worrying his quid and spurtingtobacco juice in all directions. 

There was reason, too, for uneasiness. Sometimes a ship would notstart when the blocks were sawed through. There would be a long delaywhile hydraulic jacks were sought and put to work to force herforward. Such a delay had a superstitious meaning. Nobody liked a shipthat was afraid of her element. They wanted an eagerness in herget-away. Or suppose she shot out too impetuously and listed on theways, ripping the scaffolding to pieces like a whale thrashing a raftapart. Suppose she careened and stuck or rolled over in the mud. Suchthings had happened and might happen again. The _Mamise_ had sufferedso many mishaps that the other ship crews called her a hoodoo. 

At last the hour drew close. Davidge was a fanatic on schedules. Hedid not want his ship to be late to her engagement. 

"She's named after me, poor thing, " said Mamise. "She's bound to belate. "

"She'll be on time for once, " Davidge growled. 

In the older days with the old-fashioned ships the boats had gone tothe sea like brides with trousseaux complete. The launching-guests hadmade the journey with her; a dinner had been served aboard, and whenthe festivities were ended the waiting tugs had taken the new ship tothe old sea for the honeymoon. 

But nowadays only hulls were launched, as a rule. The mere husk wasthen brought to the equipping-dock to receive her engines and all herequipment. 

The _Mamise_ was farther advanced, but she would have to tie up forsixty days at least. The carpenters had her furniture all ready andwaiting, but she could not put forth under her own steam for twomonths more. 

The more reason for impatience at any further delay. Davidge wentalong the launching-platform rails, like a captain on the bridge, eager to move out of the slip. 

"Make ready!" he commanded. "Stand by! Where's the bottle? Good Lord!Where's the bottle?"

That precious quart of champagne was missing now. The bottle had beenprepared by an eminent jeweler with silver decoration and a silkennet. The neck would be a cherished souvenir thereafter, made into avase to hold flowers. 

The bottle was found, a cable was lowered from aloft and the bottlefastened to it. 

Davidge explained to Mamise for the tenth time just what she was todo. He gave the signal to the sawyers. The snarl of the teeth in theholding-blocks was lost in the noise of the band. The great whistle onthe fabricating-plant split the air. The moving-picture camera-mencranked their machines. The last inches of the timbers that held theship ashore were gnawed through. The sawyers said they could feel theship straining. She wanted to get to her sea. They loved her for it. 

Suddenly she was "sawed off. " She was moving. The rigid mountain wasan avalanche of steel departing down a wooden hill. 

Mamise stared, gasped, paralyzed with launch-fright. Davidge nudgedher. She hurled the bottle at the vanishing keel. It broke with a loudreport. The wine splashed everywhichway. Some of it spattered Mamise'snew gown. 

Her muscles went to work in womanly fashion to brush off the stain. 

When she looked up, ashamed of her homely misbehavior, she cried:

"O Lord! I forgot to say, 'I christen thee _Mamise_. '"

"Say it now, " said Davidge. 

She shouted the words down the channel opening like an abyss as thevast hulk diminished toward the river. Far below she could see thewater leap back from the shock of the new-comer. Great, circlingripples retreated outward. Waves fought and threw up bouquets ofspume. 

The chute smoked with the heat of the ship's passage and a white cloudof steam flew up and followed her into the river. 

She was launched, beautifully, perfectly. She sailed level. She waswater-borne. 

People were cheering, the band was pounding all out of time, every eyefollowing the ship, the leader forgetting to lead. 

Mamise wept and Davidge's eyes were wet. Something surged in him likethe throe of the river where the ship went in. It was good to havebuilt a good ship. 

Mamise wrung his hand. She would have kissed him, but she rememberedin time. The camera caught the impulse. People laughed at that in themovie theaters. People cheered in distant cities as they assistedweeks after in the début of _Mamise_. 

The movies took the people everywhere on magic carpets. Yet there werecurious people who bewailed them as inartistic!

Mamise's little body and her little soul were almost blasted by theenormity of her emotions. The ship was like a child too big for itsmother, and the ending of the long travail left her wrecked. 

She tried to enter into the hilarity of the guests, but she was filledwith awe and prostrate as if a god had passed by. 

The crowd began to trickle down the long steps to the feast in themess hall. She dreaded the descent, the long walk, the sitting attable. She wanted to go home and cry very hard and be good and sickfor a long while. 

But she could not desert Davidge at such a time or mar his triumph byher hypochondria. She wavered as she climbed down. She rode withDavidge to the mess-hall in his car and forced herself to voicecongratulations too solemn and too fervid for words. 

The guests of honor sat at a table disguised with scenery as a ship'sdeck. A thousand people sat at the other tables and took part in thebanquet. 

Mamise could not eat the food of human caterers. She had fed onhoney-dew and drunk the milk of paradise. 

She lived through the long procession of dishes and heard some of theoratory, the glowing praises of Davidge and Uncle Sam, Mr. Schwab, Mr. Hurley, President Wilson, the Allies, and everybody else. She heard itproclaimed that America was going back to the sea, so long neglected. The prodigal was returning home. 

Mamise could think of nothing but a wish to be in bed. The room beganto blur. People's faces went out of focus. Her teeth began to chatter. Her jaw worked ridiculously like a riveting-gun. She was furious atit. 

She heard Davidge whispering: "What's the matter, honey? You're illagain. "

"I--I fancy--I--I guess I--I--am, " she faltered. 

"O God!" he groaned, "why did you come out?"

He rose, lifted her elbow, murmured something to the guests. He wouldhave supported her to the door, but she pleaded:

"Don't! They'll think it's too much ch-ch-champagne. I'm all right!"

She made the door in excellent control, but it cost her her last centof strength. Outside, she would have fallen, but he huddled her in hisarms, lifted her, carried her to his car. He piled robes on her, butthose riveters inside her threatened to pound her to death. Burningpains gnawed her chest like cross-cut saws. 

When the car stopped she was not in front of her cottage, but beforethe hospital. 

When the doctor finished his inspection she heard him mumble toDavidge:

"Pneumonia! Double pneumonia!"

CHAPTER IX

Once more Mamise had come between Davidge and his work. He did notcare what happened to his ships or his shipyard. He watched Mamisefighting for life, if indeed she fought, for he could not get to herthrough the fog. 

She was often delirious and imagined herself back in her cruel times. He learned a few things about that mystic period she would neverdisclose. And he was glad that she had never told him more. He fledfrom her, for eavesdropping on a delirium has something of thecontemptible quality of peeping at a nakedness. 

He supposed that Mamise would die. All the poor women with pasts thathe had read about, in what few novels he had read, had died or it hadbeen found out that they had magically retained their innocencethrough years of evil environment. 

He supposed also that Mamise would die, because that was the one thingneedful to make his life a perfect failure. He had not gone to war, yet he had lost his arm. He had never really desperately loved before, and now he would lose his heart. It was just as well, because ifMamise lived he would lose her, anyway. He would not tie her to thecrippled thing he was. 

While the battalions of disease ravaged the poor Belgium of Mamise'sbody the world outside went on making history. The German Empire keptcaving in on all sides. Her armies held nowhere. Her only pride was insaving a defeat from being a disaster. Her confederates weredisintegrating. The newspapers mentioned now, not cities thatsurrendered to the Allies, but nations. 

And at last Germany added one more to her unforgivable assaults uponthe patience of mankind. Just as the Allies poised for the lasttremendous all-satisfying _coup de grâce_ the Empire put up her handsand whined the word that had become the world-wide synonym forpoltroonery, "_Kamerad!_"

Foch wept, American soldiers cursed because they could not prove theirmettle and drive the boche into the Rhine. Never was so bitter adisappointment mingled with a triumph so magnificent. The world wentwild with the news of peace. The nations all made carnival over thepremature rumor and would not be denied their rhapsodies because thestory was denied. They made another and a wilder carnival when thenews was confirmed. 

Davidge took the peace without enthusiasm. Mamise had been better, butwas worse again. She got still better than before and not quite soworse again. And so in a climbing zigzag she mounted to health atlast. 

She had missed the carnival and she woke on the morning after. Nearlyeverybody was surprised to find that ending this one war had brought adozen new wars, a hundred, a myriad. 

The danger that had united the nations into a holy crusade had ended, and the crusaders were men again. They were back in the same old worldwith the same old sins and sorrows and selfishnesses, and unnumberednew ones. And they had the habit of battle--the gentlest wereaccustomed to slaughter. 

It was not the Central Powers alone that had disintegrated. TheEntente Cordiale was turned into a caldron of toil and trouble. No twopeople in any one nation agreed on the best way to keep the peace. Nobody could accept any other body's theories. 

Russia, whose collapse had cost the Allies a glimpse of destructionand a million lives, was a new plague spot, the center of the world'sdread. While the people in Russia starved or slew one another theirterrible missionaries went about the world preaching chaos as the newgospel and fanning the always smoldering discontent of labor into aprairie fire. 

Ships were needed still. Europe must be fed. Hunger was theBolshevists' blood-brother. Unemployment was the third in the grimfraternity. 

Davidge increased his force daily, adding a hundred men or more to hisarmy, choosing mainly from the returning hordes of soldiers. 

When Mamise at last had left the hospital she found a new shipgrowing where the _Mamise_ had dwelt. The _Mamise_ was at theequipping-dock, all but ready for the sea, about to steam out and takeon a cargo of food to Poland, the new-old country gathering her threeselves together under the spell of Paderewski's patriotic fire. 

Mamise wanted to go to work again. Her strength was back and she wasnot content to return to crochet-hooks and tennis-racquets. She hadtasted the joy of machinery, had seen it add to her light muscles agiant's strength. She wanted to build a ship all by herself, especially the riveting. 

Davidge opposed her with all his might. He pointed out that the dreamof women laboring with men, each at her job, had been postponed, likeso many other dreams, lost like so many other benefits that mitigatedwar. 

The horrors of peace were upon the world. Men were driving the womenback to the kitchen. There were not jobs enough for all. 

But Mamise pleaded to be allowed to work at least till her own shipwas finished. So Davidge yielded to quiet her. She put back into heroveralls and wielded a monkey-wrench in the engine-room. She tookflying trips on the lofty cranes. 

One afternoon when the whistle blew she remained aloft alone to revelin the wonder view of the world, the wide and gleaming river, thepeaceful hills, the so-called handiwork of God, and everywhere thepitiful beauty of man's efforts to work out his destiny and enslavethe forces. 

Human power was not the least of these forces. Ingenious men hadlearned how to use not only wind currents, waterfalls, and lightningand the heat stored up in coal, but to use also the power stored up inthe muscles of their more slow-brained fellows. And these forces brokeloose at times with the ruinous effect of tornadoes, floods, andthunderbolts. 

The laborers needed merciful and intelligent handling, and the betterthey were the better their work. It was hard to say what was heresyand what was wisdom, what was oppression and what was helpfuldiscipline. Whichever way one turned, there was misunderstanding, protest, revolt. 

Mamise thought that everybody ought to be happy and love everybodyelse. She thought that it ought to be joy enough to go on working inthat splendid shop and about the flock of ships on the ways. 

And yet people would insist on being miserable. She, the priestess ofunalloyed rapture, also sighed. 

Hearing a step on the crane, she was startled. After all, she was onlya woman, alone up here, and help could never reach her if any onethreatened her. She looked over the edge. 

There came the man who most of all threatened her--Davidge. Heendangered her future most of all, whether he married her or desertedher. He evidently had no intention of marrying her, for she had givenhim chances enough and hints enough. 

He had a telegram in his hand and apologized for following her. 

"I didn't know but it might be bad news. "

"There's nobody to send me bad news except you and Abbie. " She openedthe telegram. It was an invitation from Polly to come back to sanityand a big dance at the Hotel Washington. She smiled. "I wonder if I'llever dance again. "

Davidge was tired from the climb. He dropped to the seat occupied bythe chauffeur of the crane. He rose at once with an apology andoffered his place to Mamise. 

She shook her head, then gave a start:

"Great Heavens! that reminds me! That seat of yours I took on thetrain from New York. I've never paid for it. "

"Oh, for the Lord's sake--"

"I'm going to pay it. That's where all the trouble started. How muchwas it?"

"I don't remember. "

"About two dollars now. "

"Exactly one then. "

She drove her hand down into the pocket of her breeches and dragged upa fistful of small money. 

"To-day was pay-day. Here's your dollar. "

"Want a receipt?"

"Sure, Mike. I couldn't trust you. "

An odd look crossed his face. He did not play easily, but he tried:

"I can't give you a receipt now, because everybody is looking. "

"Do you mean that you had an idea of kissing me?" she gasped. 

"Yep. "

"You reckless devil! Do you think that a plutocrat can kiss every poorgoil in the shop?"

"You're the only one here. "

"Well, then, do you think you'll take advantage of my womanlyhelplessness?"

"Yes. "

"Never! Overalls is royal raiment when wore for voitue's sake. You'llnever kiss me till you put a wedding-ring on me finger. "

He looked away, sobered and troubled. 

She stared at him. "Good Heavens! Can't you take a hint?"

"Not that one. "

"Then I insist on your marrying me. You have compromised mehopelessly. Everybody says I am working here just to be near you, andthat's a fact. "

He was a caricature of mental and physical awkwardness. 

She gasped: "And still he doesn't answer me! Must I get on my knees toyou?"

She dropped on her knees, a blue denim angel on a cloud, prayinghigher. 

He stormed: "For Heaven's sake, get up! Somebody will see you. "

She did not budge. "I'll not rise from my knees till you promise tomarry me. "

He started to escape, moved toward the steps. She seized his knees andmoaned:

"Oh, pity me! pity me!"

He was excruciated with her burlesque, tried to drag her to her feet, but he had only one hand and he could not manage her. 

"Please get up. I can't make you. I've only one arm. "

"Let's see if it fits. " She rose and, holding his helpless hand, whirled round into his arm. "Perfect!" Then she stood there and calledfrom her eyrie to the sea-gulls that haunted the river, "In thepresence of witnesses this man has taken me for his affiancedfiancée. "

 * * * * *

They had a wedding in the village church. Abbie was matron of honorand gave her sister away. Her children were very dressed up andhighly uncomfortable. Abbie drew Mamise aside after the signing of thebook. 

"Oh, thank Gawd you're marrit at last, Mamise! You've been such aworrit to me. I hope you'll be as happy as poor Jake and me was. If heonly hadn't 'a' had to gave his life for you, you wouldn't 'a' been. But he's watchin' you from up there and-- Oh dear! Oh dear!"

Jake was already a tradition of increasing beauty. So may we all of usbe!

Mamise insisted on dragging Davidge away from the shipyard for a briefhoneymoon. 

"You're such a great executive, they'll never miss you. But I shall. Idecline to take my honeymoon or live my married life alone. "

They went up to Washington for a while of shopping. The city wasalready reverting to type. The heart had gone out of the stay-at-homewar-workers and the tide was on the ebb save for a new population ofreturned soldiers, innumerably marked with the proofs of sacrifice, not only by their service chevrons, their wound stripes, but also bythe parts of their brave bodies that they had left in France. 

They were shy and afraid of themselves and of the world, andespecially of their women. But, as Adelaide wrote of the new task ofrehabilitation, "a merciful Providence sees to it that we become, intime, used to anything. If we had all been born with one arm or oneleg our lives and loves would have gone on just the same. "

To many another woman, as to Mamise, was given the privilege of addingherself to her wounded lover to complete him. 

Polly Widdicombe, seeing Mamise and Davidge dancing together, smiledthrough her tears, almost envying her her husband. Davidge danced aswell with one arm as with two, but Mamise, as she clasped that bluntshoulder and that pocketed sleeve, was given the final touch ofrapture made perfect with regret: she had the aching pride of asoldier's sweetheart, for she could say:

"I am his right arm. "

THE END