ess of Amber----" I
glanced at her red hair, which did have amber lights in it, "and
they'll envy. So do come. Will you?"

I borrowed a fine new racing runabout, and at six o'clock called for
her at the address she had given me. She had gotten herself up with
the most discreet good taste, and looked perfectly charming. She must
have read the approval in my glance, for the color flew to her cheeks,
and she looked triumphantly pleased.

"Going to be warm enough?"

"Yes, thank you."

"It's mighty nice of you to come."

"Oh, when you held out half an excuse to me, I couldn't help coming."

"What's your idea--for England? To be a nurse--or what?"

"A nurse, sir."

"I'm not _sir_, please. I'm going to be a nurse, too. I told you once
that I'd always be your friend. And a friend isn't ever sir. So don't
do it again."

"I'll not," she said.

Presently I began to ask her about the Fultons. At first her answers
were short and unsatisfactory, but presently she began to warm to the
topic.

Stamford? Oh, it had been awful. The house had never been divided in
its allegiance, but nobody could have remained callous to Mrs. Fulton's
grief. Meals were especially awful. Mr. and Mrs. Fulton tried to make
conversation. Sometimes just when it seemed as if she was going to be
a little cheerful--phist! her eyes would fill with tears, and she would
bolt from the room. At such times Mr. Fulton's face was a study of
pity for her and grief for them both. She was good to the children; no
question about that. Sometimes she grabbed them into her arms and
hugged them too hard. It was as if she was trying by sheer physical
effort to give them back what she had taken away from them.

Sometimes one thought one heard little Hurry crying very softly and
bitterly, and it would turn out to be Mrs. Fulton, locked in her
bedroom. Pressure of business, success, kept Mr. Fulton going.
Sometimes the two tried to talk things over. But it was an irritating,
mosquitoey house. Always their voices ended by rising to the point
where they could be heard all over the ramshackle paper-thin dwelling.

It stood on a lawn that sloped to tidal waters, very ugly and muddy at
low tide. A long gangway reached to a float for boats; here the water
was deep enough to dive into at half tide. Often at dawn, if the tide
was right, and you happened to be awake, you might see Mr. Fulton
descend the wet lawn in wrapper and bare feet for the swim