Through memories of her father there many times sounded the notes of the bugle--now this call, now that, piercing, compelling, sounding as _motif_ of his life, thing before which all other things must fall away. She seemed to hear now the notes of retreat--to see the motionless regiment--then the evening gun and the band playing the Star Spangled Banner and the flag--never touching the ground--coming down for the night. She answered it in the things it woke in her heart: those ideals of service, courage, fidelity which it had left her.

She would talk to him--to Alan (absurd she should think it so timidly--so close in the big things--so strange in some of the little ones)--about her father and mother. To make them real to him would make him see the army differently. It hurt her to think of his seeing it as he did, hurt her because she knew how it would have hurt them. To them, it had been the whole of their lives. They had not questioned; they had served. They had given it all they had.

And that other thing there was to tell her--? Was that, too, something that would have hurt them? She hoped not. It seemed she could bear the actual hurt to herself better than thought of the hurt it would have been to them.

But when the bell rang and she heard his voice asking for her a tumult of happiness crowded all else out.

She was shyly radiant as she came to him. As he looked at her, it seemed to pass belief.

But when he dared, and was newly convinced, as, his arms about her he looked down into her kindling face, his own grew purposeful as well as happy, more resolute than radiant. "We will make a life together," he said, as if answering something that had been in his thoughts. "We will beat it all down."

An hour went by and he had not told the story of his life, life itself too mysterious, too luring, too beautiful. Whenever they came near to it they seemed to hold back, as if they would remain as they were then. Instead, they told each other little things about themselves, absurd little things, drawing near to each other by all those tender little paths of suddenly remembered things. And they lingered so, as if loving it so.

It was when Katie spoke of her brother that he was swept again into the larger seriousness. Looking into her tender face, his own grew grave.

"You know, Katie--what I told you--what I must tell you--"

"Oh yes," said Katie, "there was something, wasn't there?" But she put out her hand as if to show there was nothing that could matter. He took the hand and held it; but he did not grow less grave.

"Katie," he asked, "how much do you really care for the army?"

It startled her, stirring a vague fear in her happy heart.

"Why--I don't know; more than I realize, I presume." She was silent, then asked: "Why?"

He did not reply; his face had become sober.

"You are thinking," she ventured, "that your feeling for it is going to be--hard for me?"

He nodded; he was still holding her hand tightly, as if to make sure of keeping it.

"You see, Katie," he went on, with difficulty, "I have reason for that feeling."

"What do you mean?" she asked sharply.

"I have tried not to show you that I knew anything--in a personal way--about the army."

Her breath was coming quickly; her face was strained. But after a moment she exclaimed: "Why--to be sure--you were in the Spanish War!"

"No," said he with a hard laugh, "I am nothing so glorious as a veteran."

He felt the hand in his grow cold. She drew it away and rose; turned away and was picking the leaves from a plant.

But she found another thing to reach out to. "Well I suppose"--this she ventured tremulously, imploringly--"you went to West Point--and were-- didn't finish?"

"No, Katie," he said, "I never went to West Point."

"Well then what did you do?" she demanded sharply.

He laughed harshly. "Oh I was just one of those fools roped in by a recruiting officer in a gallant-looking white suit!"

"You were--?" she faltered.

"In the ranks. One of the men." The fact that she should be looking like that drove him to add bitterly: "Like Watts, you know."

She stood there in silence, held. The radiance had all fallen from her.

She was looking at him with something of the woe and reproach of a child for a cherished thing hurt.

"Why, Katie," he cried, "_does_ it matter so? I thought it was only when we were _in_ that we were so--impossible."

But she did not take the hands he stretched out. She was held.

It drove him desperate. "Well if _that's_ so--if to have been in the army at all is a thing to make you look like _that_--Heaven knows," he threw in, "I don't blame you for despising us for fools!--But I don't know what you'll say when I tell you--"

"When you tell me--what?" she whispered.

"That I have no honorable discharge to lay at your feet. That I left your precious army through the noble gates of a military prison!"

She took a step backward, swaying. The anguish which mingled with the horror in her face made him cry: "Katie, let me tell you! Let me show you--"

But Katie, white-faced, was standing erect, braced for facing it. "What for? What did you do?"

Her voice was quick, sharp; tenseness made her seem arrogant. It roused something ugly in him. "I knocked down a cur of a lieutenant," he said, and laughed defiantly.

"You _struck_--an officer?"

"I knocked down a man who ought to have been knocked down!"

"_Struck_--your superior officer?"

"Katie," he cried, "that's your way of looking at it! But let me tell you--let me show you--"

But she had turned from him, covered her face; and before Katie there swept again those pictures, sounds: her father's voice ringing out over parade ground--silent, motionless regiment; the notes of retreat--those bugle notes, piercing, compelling, thing before which all other things must fall away--evening gun and lowered flag--

She lifted colorless face, shaking her head.

"_Katie_!" he cried. "Our life--_our_ love--_our_ life--"

She raised her hand for silence, still shaking her head.

"Won't you--_fight_ for it?" he whispered. "_Try_?"

She kept shaking her head. "Anything else," she managed to articulate.

"Anything else. Not this. You don't understand. Can't. Never would."

Suddenly she cried: "Oh--_go away!_"

For a moment he stood there. But her face was locked against appeal.

Colorless, unsteady, he turned and left her.