ant with romance; all that was lacking was his impulse to be
romantic.

Maisie was chattering gayly and forestalling his wants. He reserved a
small portion of his mind for her conversation--sufficient to enable him
to reply "Yes" or "No" when the occasion seemed to demand it. It was
clear to him that it made her happy to have a man so entirely at her
mercy. She meant immensely well by him. Behind her mist of words she
seemed to be saying, "Isn't it nice to be just we two together?"

But he was thinking of the other three soldiermen who had played the
game of being "just we two together" before him. The singing voice,
drifting through the courtyard, put into words the question of his
thought, "Where are you now? Where are you now?" Yes, where were they?

He felt pity and distaste for Maisie in equal proportions. Those men had
each in turn caressed her, dipped their hands in the largesse of her
pale gold hair, seen their souls' reflection in the cornflower innocence
of her eyes, drunk forgetfulness from the poppy-petals of her mouth and
gone away to die, believing she was wholly theirs. How little of her was
theirs now! She was almost virginal--as though she had never been
touched by their passion. And yet there seemed to be one of them whose
memory had outstayed the rest, for she had said, "You know, my man's out
there." Was she merely a light, predatory woman or---- Or very loving
and lonely?

She was speaking more seriously now. "We mustn't tell her. It's natural
to be sorry for him now that he's dead." He picked up the thread and
guessed that she was referring to Lord Dawn.

"We must tell her," he said.

"But we mustn't," she urged. "For years he tried to make her wretched.
There were rumors of other women. She's found peace at last. It wouldn't
help him to let her know that he had died loving her out there. He's
beyond any help of ours. They all are." He surmised who the _they_ were:
the three soldiermen who had sat there before him. In pleading for
silence for others, she was pleading for silence for herself. Again she
was defending herself against his thoughts. "All of the dead had their
chance. Lord Dawn had; there were so many years in which he might have
told her. To tell her now would be to rob----"

She broke off as the maid reentered with the coffee. Her tone changed
instantly to one of convention. "Not here, Porter. We'll have it in the
drawing-room."

As he followed her out across the hall, he glan