did not speak at first. Then:

"My own little girl," he said. "My own little girl!"

Suddenly Sara Lee was very happy. All her doubts were swept away by his
voice, his arms. There was no thrill for her in his caress, but there
were peace and quiet joy. It was enough for her, just then, that she
had brought back some of the happiness she had robbed him of.

"Oh, Harvey!" she said. "I'm glad to be back again--with you."

He held her off then and looked at her.

"You are thin," he said. "You're not pale, but you are thin." And in a
harder voice: "What did they do to you over there?"

But he did not wait for a reply. He did not seem to want one. He picked
up her bag, and guiding her by the elbow, piloted her through the crowd.

"A lot of folks wanted to come and meet you," he said, "but I steered
them off. You'd have thought Roosevelt was coming to town the way
they've been calling up."

"To meet me?"

"I expect the Ladies' Aid Society wanted to get into the papers again,"
he said rather grimly. "They are merry little advertisers, all right."

"I don't think that, Harvey."

"Well, I do," he said, and brought her to a stop facing a smart little
car, very new, very gay.

"How do you like it?" he asked.

"Like it? Why, it's not yours, is it?"

"Surest thing you know. Or, rather, it's ours. Had a few war babies,
and they grew up."

Sara Lee looked at it, and for just an instant, a rather sickening
instant, she saw Henri's shattered low car, battle-scarred and broken.

"It's--lovely," said Sara Lee. And Harvey found no fault with her tone.

Sara Lee had intended to go to Anna's, for a time at least. But she
found that Belle was expecting her and would not take no.

"She's moved the baby in with the others," Harvey explained as he took
the wheel. "Wait until you see your room. I knew we'd be buying
furniture soon, so I fixed it up."

He said nothing for a time. He was new to driving a car, and the traffic
engrossed him. But when they had reached a quieter neighborhood he put
a hand over hers.

"Good God, how I've been hungry for you!" he said. "I guess I was pretty
nearly crazy sometimes." He glanced at her apprehensively, but if she
knew his connection with her recall she showed no resentment. As a
matter of fact there was in his voice something that reminded her of
Henri, the same deeper note, almost husky.

She was, indeed, asking herself very earnestly what was there in her of
all people that should