en he moved.

"This fellow who planned that for you--did you ever see him again?"

"He met me in Calais."

"And then what?"

"He took me to Dunkirk in his car. Such a hideous car, Harvey--all
wrecked. It had been under fire again and again. I--"

"He took you to Dunkirk! Who was with you?"

"Just Jean, the chauffeur."

"I like his nerve! Wasn't there in all that Godforsaken country a
woman to take with you? You and this--What was his name, anyhow?"

"I can't tell you that, Harvey."

"Look here!" he burst out. "How much of this aren't you going to tell?
Because I want it all or not at all."

"I can't tell you his name. I'm only trying to make you understand the
way I feel about things. His name doesn't matter." She clenched her
hands in the darkness. "I don't think he is alive now."

He tried to see her face, but she turned it away.

"Dead, eh? What makes you think that?"

"I haven't heard from him."

"Why should you hear from him?" His voice cut like a knife. "Look at
me. Why should he write to you?"

"He cared for me, Harvey."

He sat in a heavy silence which alarmed her.

"Don't be angry, please," she begged. "I couldn't bear it. It wasn't my
fault, or his either."

"The damned scoundrel!" said Harvey thickly.

But she reached over and put a trembling hand over his lips.

"Don't say that," she said. "Don't! I won't allow you to. When I
think what may have happened to him, I--" Her voice broke.

"Go on," Harvey said in cold tones she had never heard before. "Tell it
all, now you've begun it. God knows I didn't want to hear it. He took
you to the hotel at Dunkirk, the way those foreigners take their women.
And he established you in the house at the Front, I suppose, like a--"

Sara Lee suddenly stood up and drew off her ring.

"You needn't go on," she said quietly. "I had a decision to make
to-night, and I have made it. Ever since I came home I have been trying
to go back to where we were before I left. It isn't possible. You are
what you always were, Harvey. But I've changed. I can't go back."

She put the ring into his hand.

"It isn't that you don't love me. I think you do. But I've been
thinking things over. It isn't only to-night, or what you just said.
It's because we don't care for the same things, or believe in them."

"But--if we love each other--"

"It's not that, either. I used to feel that way. A home, and some one
to care about, and a little pleasure and work."

"That oug