ll you this: I doubt if an older woman could have got where she has.
There is no doubt that her charm, her youth and beauty have helped her
greatly. We cannot--"

The very whites of his eyes turned red then. He shouted furiously that
for their silly work and their love of publicity, they were trading on
a girl's youth and beauty; that if anything happened to her he would
publish the truth in every newspaper in the country; that they would at
once recall Sara Lee or he would placard the city with what they were
doing. These were only a few of the things he threw at her.

When he was out of breath he jerked the picture of the little house of
mercy out of his pocket and flung it into her lap.

"There!" he said. "Do you know where that house is? It's in a ruined
village. She hasn't said that, has she? Well, look at the masonry
there. That's a shell hole in the street. That soldier's got a gun.
Why? Because the Germans may march up that street any day on their way
to Calais."

Mrs. Gregory looked at the picture. Sara Lee smiled into the sun. And
Rene, ignorant that his single rifle was to oppose the march of the
German Army to Calais--Rene smiled also.

Mrs. Gregory rose.

"I shall report your view to the society," she said coldly. "I
understand how you feel, but I fail to see the reason for this attack
on me."

"I guess you see all right!" he flung at her. "She's my future wife.
If you hadn't put this nonsense into her head we'd be married now and
she'd be here in God's country and not living with a lot of foreigners
who don't know a good woman when they see one. I want her back, that's
all. But I want her back safe. And if anything happens to her I'll
make you pay--you and all your notoriety hunters."

He went out then, and was for leaving without his hat or coat, but the
butler caught him at the door. Out in the spring sunlight he walked
rapidly, still seething, remembering other bitter things he had meant
to say, and repeating them to himself.

But he had said enough.

Mrs. Gregory's account of his visit she reported at a meeting specially
called. The narrative lost nothing in the repetition. But the kindly
women who sat in the church house sewing or knitting listened to what
Harvey had said and looked troubled. They liked Sara Lee, and many of
them had daughters of their own.

The photograph was passed around. Undoubtedly Sara Lee was living in a
ruined village. Certainly ruined villages were only found ve