d;
to-morrow she may be Maisie Anything--Mrs. Adair Easterday, perhaps."

Under her willful mystifications his calmness was getting ruffled. While
he listened to her, he kept comparing this day with the other day that
his imagination had painted. The world was to have been so much better
and kinder when the agony of the trenches was ended. It was in order
that it might be better that so many men had not come back. And this was
the kinder world--a world in which men, saved from the jaws of death,
met the girls they had loved as strangers, in whose presence, if they
were to avoid offense, they must pick their words! A world full of men
like Adair, who had been honorable until others had made them safe by
their sacrifice, and of women like Maisie of the many names, who forgot
her yesterdays that she might seize her selfish personal happiness!

"Terry," he spoke with a show of patience, "do you think it's a matter
about which to jest? There's your sister and her kiddies; their future's
at stake. If I'm to be of any help----" He broke off, for a voice inside
his brain had started talking, "You're old. That's exactly the way in
which her father speaks to her." Was it her thoughts that he had heard?
Her face was lowered; he could see nothing but the top of her golden
head. Youth radiated from her; even in his anger it intoxicated him.

"So if I'm to help," he picked up his thread, "you mustn't mock. It
isn't decent, Terry; the situation's too serious. Let me have the facts.
How does she come by all these different names? Does she call herself
something different with each new dress?"

Terry's eyes were wide and sorry. "No, with each new husband, but----"
There came a break in her voice, "Oh, Tabs, I can't bear that you should
be cross with me. You've been disappointed in me from the moment we met.
We're not the same. And I know it's not all my fault. And----"

Her lips trembled. He was in terror lest she would give way to crying.
If it hadn't been for the table that parted them with its unromantic
debris of dishes---- As it was he leant across and assured her
earnestly, "I'm not cross with you, my dearest girl. I'm---- Terry, how
is it that we've drifted so apart? I keep groping after the old Terry;
for a minute I think I've found her, and then she's no longer there."

Drying her eyes, she nodded. "It hurts most frightfully. That's what I
keep doing, barking my shins in the dark, trying to follow the old Tabs.
He's always