clasped and
her cheek resting on the back of the left hand. Her face was turned
towards me. She wore a low-cut black chiffon evening dress--the thing
had mere straps over the shoulders--an all but discarded vanity of
pre-war days. I had never before noticed what beautiful arms she had.
Perhaps in her girlhood, when I had often seen her in such exiguous
finery, they had not been so shapely. I have told you already of the
softening touch of her womanhood. An exquisite curve from arm to neck
faded into the shadow of her hair. She had a single string of pearls
round her neck. The fatigue of last week's night duty had cast an added
spirituality over her frank, sensitive face.

We had not spoken for a while. She smiled at me.

"What are you thinking of?"

"I wasn't thinking at all," said I. "I was only gratefully admiring
you."

"Why gratefully?"

"Oughtn't one to be grateful to God for the beautiful things He gives
us?"

She flushed and averted her eyes. "You are very good to me, Majy."

"What made you attire yourself in all this splendour?" I asked,
laughing. The wise man does not carry sentiment too far. He keeps it
like a little precious nugget of pure gold; the less wise beats it out
into a flabby film.

"I don't know," she said, shifting her position and casting a critical
glance at her bodice. "All kinds of funny little feminine vanities.
Perhaps I wanted to see whether I hadn't gone off. Perhaps I wanted to
try to feel good-looking even if I wasn't. Perhaps I thought my dear
old Majy was sick to death of the hospital uniform perfumed with
disinfectant. Perhaps it was just a catlike longing for comfort.
Anyhow, I'm glad you like me."

"My dear Betty," said I, "I adore you."

"And I you," she laughed. "So there's a pair of us."

She lit a cigarette and sipped her coffee. Then, breaking a short
silence:

"I hope you quite understand, dear, what I said about Leonard Boyce. I
shouldn't like to leave you with the smallest little bit of a wrong
impression."

"What wrong impression could I possibly have?" I asked disingenuously.

"You might think that I was still in love with him."

"That would be absurd," said I.

"Utterly absurd. I should feel it to be almost an insult if you thought
anything of the kind. Long before my marriage things that had happened
had killed all such feelings outright." She paused for a few seconds
and her brow darkened, just as it had done when she had spoken of him
in the day