aited, tensely eager.

"Why, they sing; they laugh little short-breathed laughs; they tell
stories to themselves of nonsensical things to reassure them. All the time
they are trying not to think of what terrors the dark may hold; they are
trying not to cry out for some one to come and sit with them. Some of our
girls are doing a tremendous work. They meet trains at all hours of the
day or night and feed the boys before they sail; they wait all day in the
canteens until they're ready to drop; they put in a lot more time, making
comfort-kits, knitting, and rolling bandages, than they ever own to. And
suppose they don't grow dreadfully serious; isn't it better that way? The
girls are doing their bit as fast as they are learning how. It isn't fair
of the boys to judge them too soon. It isn't fair of you to judge your
Clarisse without giving her a chance."

"You didn't read those letters."

"Letters! Most of us, when we write, keep back the things that really
matter and skim off the surface of our lives to tell about. There may not
be the sixteenth part of your girl in those letters."

The boy's lips tightened stubbornly. "It wasn't just one--it was all of
them. Anyhow, I haven't the nerve or the heart to find out."

Again Sheila let the silence fall between them. When she spoke, her voice
was very tender. "Tell me, boy, what made you love her?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Oh, I don't know. She was always a good sport,
never got grumpy over things that happened, never got cold feet, either.
She had a way of teasing you to do what she wanted, would do anything to
get her way; and then she'd turn about so quickly and give you your way,
after all--just make you take it. And she'd be so awfully sweet about it,
too. And she'd always play fair, and she had a way of making you feel the
best ever. Oh, I don't know--" The boy looked about him helplessly. "They
sound awfully foolish reasons for loving a girl."

Sheila's face had become suddenly radiant; her eyes sparkled like
rushlights in a wind. They actually startled the boy so that he
straightened up in bed again and gripped her hand. "I say, Leerie, what is
it? I never saw you look like this before. You're--Are you in love?"

"With one of the finest men God ever made. He's so fine that he trusted me
through a terrible bungle--believed in the real woman in me when I would
have denied it. That's what a man's love can do for a woman sometimes,
keep her true to the best in her."