had the same quietly certain way of dealing directly
with the common-sense realities and not the fuss and feathers. It seemed
to him that she had not changed at all, that she herself was one of the
realities, the wholesome home realities, like Captain Zelotes and Olive
and the old house they lived in. He told her so. She laughed.

"You make me feel as ancient as the pyramids," she said.

He shook his head. "I am the ancient," he declared. "This war hasn't
changed you a particle, Helen, but it has handed me an awful jolt. At
times I feel as if I must have sailed with Noah. And as if I had wasted
most of the time since."

She smiled. "Just what do you mean by that?" she asked.

"I mean--well, I don't know exactly what I do mean, I guess. I seem
to have an unsettled feeling. I'm not satisfied with myself. And as I
remember myself," he added, with a shrug, "that condition of mind was
not usual with me."

She regarded him for a moment without speaking, with the appraising look
in her eyes which he remembered so well, which had always reminded him
of the look in his grandfather's eyes, and which when a boy he resented
so strongly.

"Yes," she said slowly, "I think you have changed. Not because you say
you feel so much older or because you are uneasy and dissatisfied. So
many of the men I talked with at the camp hospital, the men who had been
over there and had been wounded, as you were, said they felt the same
way. That doesn't mean anything, I think, except that it is dreadfully
hard to get readjusted again and settle down to everyday things. But
it seems to me that you have changed in other ways. You are a little
thinner, but broader, too, aren't you? And you do look older, especially
about the eyes. And, of course--well, of course I think I do miss a
little of the Albert Speranza I used to know, the young chap with the
chip on his shoulder for all creation to knock off."

"Young jackass!"

"Oh, no indeed. He had his good points. But there! we're wasting time
and we have so much to talk about. You--why, what am I thinking of! I
have neglected the most important thing in the world. And you have just
returned from New York, too. Tell me, how is Madeline Fosdick?"

"She is well. But tell me about yourself. You have been in all sorts of
war work, haven't you. Tell me about it."

"Oh, my work didn't amount to much. At first I 'Red Crossed' in Boston,
then I went to Devens and spent a long time in the camp hospital the