nd tended the plants in the dining-room window,
and watched Uncle James slowly lowered into his quiet grave.

Part of her detachment was voluntary. She could not bear to remember.
She had but to close her eyes to see Henri's tragic face that last night
at Morley's. And part of the detachment was because, after all, the
interlude had been but a matter of months, and reaching out familiar
hands to her were the habits and customs and surroundings of all the
earlier years of her life, drawing her back to them.

It was strange how Henri's face haunted her. She could close her eyes
and see it, line by line, his very swagger--for he did swagger, just a
little; his tall figure and unruly hair; his long, narrow, muscular
hands. Strange and rather uncomfortable. Because she could not summon
Harvey's image at all. She tried to bring before her, that night in the
train speeding west, his solid figure and kind eyes as they would greet
her the next day--tried, and failed. All she got was the profile of
the photograph, and the stubborn angle of the jaw.

She was up very early the next morning, and it was then, as the train
rolled through familiar country, that she began to find Harvey again.
A flush of tenderness warmed her. She must be very kind to him because
of all that he had suffered.

The train came to a stop. Rather breathless Sara Lee went out on the
platform. Harvey was there, in the crowd. He did not see her at first.
He was looking toward the front of the train. So her first glimpse of
him was the view of the photograph. His hat was off, and his hair,
carefully brushed back, gave him the eager look of the picture.

He was a strong and manly figure, as unlike Henri as an oak is unlike
one of Henri's own tall and swaying poplars. Sara Lee drew a long
breath. Here after all were rest and peace; love and gentleness; quiet
days and still evenings. No more crowds and wounds and weary men, no
more great thunderings of guns, no imminence of death. Rest and peace.

Then Harvey saw her, and the gleam of happiness and relief in his eyes
made her own eyes misty. She saw even in that first glance that he
looked thinner and older. A pang of remorse shot through her. Was
happiness always bought at the cost of happiness? Did one always take
away in order to give? Not in so many words, but in a flash of doubt
the thought went through her mind.

There was no reserve in Harvey's embrace. He put his arms about her and
held her close. He