ondon soon after the outbreak of war, she had been taken on the
strength of a motor-ambulance garage; and to be near her work she had
leased a small flat in Park Walk, sharing it by turn with various
companion drivers. Although her desire to be of service was the prime
reason of her action, it was with unconcealed joy that she had thrown off
the restraints of home. Freedom of action, a respite from the petty
gossip of her mother's set, had loomed up as the portals to a new life.
The thought of sharing the discomforts and the privileges of patriotic
work with young women who had broken the shackles of convention was a
prospect that thrilled her.

To her amazement, she discovered that the feminine nature alters little
with environment. It was true, her new companions had broken with all
the previous conceptions of decorum, but they had used their newly found
liberty to enslave themselves still further with the idea of
man-conquest. Officers--callow, heroic, squint-eyed, supercilious,
superb, of any and every Allied country--officers were the quarry, and
they the hunters. To love or not to love? Their talks, their thoughts,
their lives concerned little else. They fought for the attentions of men
like starving sparrows for crumbs.

In such an environment, where she had hoped to lose the burden of
persistent self, Elise found emancipation farther away than ever. The
_abandon_ of the others first created a reversion to prudery in her
breast, and then developed a cynical indifference. The others treated
her with friendly insouciance. Had she been ill, or had she met with an
accident, there was probably not one who wouldn't have proved herself a
'ministering angel.' As it was, they largely ignored her, indulging the
instinct of inhumanity which so often is woman's attitude towards woman.

So she sat alone, the Elise who had always been so resolute and
independent, feeling very small and pathetic, yearning for far-off
things--utterly lonesome, and a little inclined to cry.

The words of the book grew dim, and her thoughts drifted towards Austin
Selwyn. He had been contemptible! A pacifist! His idealism was a pose
to try to ennoble utter cowardice. At a time when men's blood ran high
he had prated of brotherhood, and peace, and suggested that the infamous
Hun had a soul! How she hated him! . . . And when she had finished with
that thought her heart's yearning returned more cruelly than before.

That evening b