act the same--except
a--a sort of reserve; something; I don't know just what.... Somehow,
you, and Sybil, too, seem as though you felt strange, aloof, out of
place. You used to be so absolutely--well, natural and at home with us
all--"

"My word!" Latham laughed but made no further comment.

"Of course," Evelyn went on, "you've been through a lot, I can
appreciate that. When I got Sybil's letter I simply wept: twenty-four
hours in a muddy shell-hole; invalided for good, with an arm you can't
raise above your shoulder; a horrid scar down your face...."

"It does make rather a poor face to look at, doesn't it?" Latham flushed
and hurried on. "Well, I've no complaint."

She glanced at the cross on his olive-drab coat.

"Of course not! How absurd, Jeffery! But how did Sybil ever stand it?
How did she _live_ through it? I mean the parting, the months of
suspense, word that you were missing, then mortally wounded?... Her
brother killed by gas?"

Latham glanced at his wife, a soft light in his eyes.

"Poor Sybil," he replied. "She was a brick, Evelyn--a perfect brick. I
don't know how she got through it. But one does, you know."

"Yes, one does, I suppose." Evelyn sighed. "But how? _I_ couldn't; I
simply couldn't. Why, Jeffery, I can't bear even to think of it."

Latham shook his head negatively at the footman, who stood at his side,
and then turned smiling to Evelyn. "Oh, come! Of course you could. You
don't understand now, but you will. There's a sort of grace given, I
fancy."

"Jeffery, I don't want to understand, and I don't want any grace, and I
think you're horrid and unsympathetic." She tapped him admonishingly on
the arm, laughing lightly. But the gloom was still in her dark-gray
eyes. "But, after all, you are right. We _are_ in for it, just as you
have been.... God grant there are women more Spartan than I."

Latham grimaced and was raising a deprecating hand when she caught it
impulsively.

"Please let's talk about something else."

"Very well." He smiled mockingly and lowered his voice. "Your friend at
your right there--curious beggar, don't you think?"

Evelyn glanced at Simec, turning again to Latham.

"He gives me the creeps," she confessed. "It seems absurd, but he does."

"Really!" The Englishman stared at the man a moment. "Do you know," he
resumed, "he does seem a bit uncanny. Where'd Nick pick him up?"

"It was Jerry Dane," she replied. "He's done some tremendous things on
the other sid