Harvey's
room. Coat and collar off, he was lying on the bed, but not reading.
His book lay beside him, and with his arms under his head he was staring
at the ceiling.

She did not sit down beside him on the bed. They were an undemonstrative
family, and such endearments as Belle used were lavished on her children.
But her eyes were kind, and a little nervous.

"Do you mind talking a little, Harvey?"

"I don't feel like talking much. I'm tired, I guess. But go on. What
is it? Bills?"

She came to him in her constant financial anxieties, and always he was
ready to help her out. But his tone now was gruff. A slight flush of
resentment colored her cheeks.

"Not this time, Harve. I was just thinking about things."

"Sit down."

She sat on the straight chair beside the bed, the chair on which, in
neat order, Harvey placed his clothing at night, his shoes beneath, his
coat over the back.

"I wish you'd go out more, Harvey."

"Why? Go out and talk to a lot of driveling fools who don't care for me
any more than I do for them?"

"That's not like you, Harve."

"Sorry." His tone softened. "I don't care much about going round,
Belle. That's all. I guess you know why."

[Illustration: That Henri might be living, somewhere--that some day the
Belgians might go home again.]

"So does everybody else."

He sat up and looked at her.

"Well, suppose they do? I can't help that, can I? When a fellow has
been jilted--"

"You haven't been jilted."

He lay down again, his arms under his head; and Belle knew that his eyes
were on Sara Lee's picture on his dresser.

"It amounts to the same thing."

"Harvey," Belle said hesitatingly, "I've brought Sara Lee's report from
the Ladies' Aid. May I read it to you?"

"I don't want to hear it." Then: "Give it here. I'll look at it."

He read it carefully, his hands rather unsteady. So many men given soup,
so many given chocolate. So many dressings done. And at the bottom
Sara Lee's request for more money--an apologetic, rather breathless
request, and closing, rather primly with this:

"I am sure that the society will feel, from the above report, that the
work is worth while, and worth continuing. I am only sorry that I
cannot send photographs of the men who come for aid, but as they come
at night it is impossible. I enclose, however, a small picture of the
house, which is now known as the little house of mercy."

"At night!" said Harvey. "So she's there alone with a lot of ig