norant
foreigners at night. Why the devil don't they come in the daytime?"

"Here's the picture, Harvey."

He got up then, and carried the tiny photograph over close to the gas
jet. There he stood for a long time, gazing at it. There was Rene
with his rifle and his smile. There was Marie in her white apron. And
in the center, the wind blowing her soft hair, was Sara Lee.

Harvey groaned and Belle came over and putting her hand on his shoulder
looked at the photograph with him.

"Do you know what I think, Harvey?" she said. "I think Sara Lee is right
and you are wrong."

He turned on her almost savagely.

"That's not the point!" he snapped out. "I don't begrudge the poor
devils their soup. What I feel is this: If she'd cared a tinker's damn
for me she'd never have gone. That's all."

He returned to a moody survey of the picture.

"Look at it!" he said. "She insists that she's safe. But that fellow's
got a gun. What for, if she's so safe? And look at that house! There's
a corner shot away; and it's got no upper floor. Safe!"

Belle held out her hand.

"I must return the picture to the society, Harve."

"Not just yet," he said ominously. "I want to look at it. I haven't
got it all yet. And I'll return it myself--with a short speech."

"Harvey!"

"Well," he retorted, "why shouldn't I tell that lot of old
scandalmongers what I think of them? They'll sit here safe at home and
beg money--God, one of them was in the office to-day!--and send a young
girl over to--You'd better get out, Belle. I'm not company for any one
to-night."

She turned away, but he came after her, and suddenly putting his arms
round her he kissed her.

"Don't worry about me," he said. "I'm done with wearing my heart on my
sleeve. She looks happy, so I guess I can be." He released her. "Good
night. I'll return the picture."

He sat up very late, alternately reading the report and looking at the
picture. It was unfortunate that Sara Lee had smiled into the camera.
Coupled with her blowing hair it had given her a light-heartedness, a
sort of joyousness, that hurt him to the soul.

He made some mad plans after he had turned out the lights--to flirt
wildly with the unattached girls he knew; to go to France and confront
Sara Lee and then bring her home. Or--He had found a way. He lay
there and thought it over, and it bore the test of the broken sleep that
followed. In the morning, dressing, he wondered he had not thought of
it before. He w