He was speaking sarcastically. He went on in the same vein: "The year over--even if you found that Lucy was still wrapped up in you, that her happiness depended on you, you would not, of course, feel that you were under any obligation to _pretend_ that you still cared for her and to do a gentleman's best to make her happy."

"I get your point, father," I said; "and of course if she still cares, I must try to make good. Of course I must."

"Suppose," he said, no longer sarcastically, but very earnestly, "suppose the year is up. Suppose Lucy still cares, and as a reward for her faithfulness and her patience there is nothing but your grave 'somewhere in France'? This is why I asked you if you _could_ go."

"I'll look like a fool," I said. "I've told several people that I was surely going."

"That's too bad," he said; "but you'll have to stand it. You have a good reputation for physical pluck, though, and n.o.body will say anything very nasty. And as for us," his voice rang a little, "who are on the inside, we know that it is braver of you to stay than to go."

"Anyway," I said, "if she--if Lucy--doesn't care any more--why I can go then."

"You can go _then_. But it seems to me that a man of education is wasted in a trench. That, however, is a matter of taste."

x.x.xIII

It was not until the early winter that I saw Lucy. It was by accident.

I sat just behind her at a musical comedy. She was with her husband.

They looked very prosperous. They seemed to be comradely enough.

Mostly I saw only the back of her head; once, her full profile; and then at last she turned half around in her seat, and saw me. I don't know what I did. I think I smiled, half rose to my feet, and lifted my hand as if to take off a hat--which of course I didn't have on. She nodded, and smiled brightly; but her eyes had that expression of praying that I have so often mentioned.

It was long since I had thought of her for more than a few minutes at a time. But now my heart began to beat furiously and all my sleeping love for her waked in my heart.

And now she was telling her husband _who_ was sitting just behind them.

I went out after the act, intending to stay out. But Fulton followed so quickly that he caught me just as I was leaving the theater.

"h.e.l.lo, Archie," he said.

"h.e.l.lo, John. How are you all?"

"Pretty well," he said; "and you?"

"Pretty well. Cartridges still looking up?"

"Yes. We're doubling the capacity of the plant for the second time since the war started. Have a drink?"

We walked to the nearest saloon. "We heard that you were going to enlist."

"I did think of it, and then I got cold feet."

"Like h.e.l.l you did!"

"Well, reasons against it were found for me. Reasons which I ought to have thought of for myself. Here's how."

"Sante!" said John. A moment later, "Going to Aiken?" he asked.

"Why, it depends."

There was an awkward silence.

"Lucy is very anxious," he then said, "to open our house again this winter."

"As a matter of fact," said I glibly, "I've more than half decided on Palm Beach."

A bell rang shrilly.

"Time to go back," he said.

"One moment, John. I'm not going back--of course. How is Lucy?"

"Oh, pretty well," he said stiffly; "I think she'll come through all right. Had a tough time for a while."

Upon that he hurried off to rejoin her, and I turned my face once more to the bar, and gave an order. I felt as if I had been through a terrible ordeal. I was all in.

From now on I heard more often of the Fultons, for they were leading a conspicuously gay life. Somebody had loaned them a house for six weeks, and by all accounts Lucy was making money fly.

I saw her in the distance three times. Twice to bow and exchange smiles. The other time she didn't see me. Seeing her meant two or three days of torture; then her image and desirability would begin to fade once more. But at least no other woman interested me in the least.

Presently they went to Aiken. A few days later I entrained for Palm Beach; but found that I could not stand the place or the pace for long periods of time, and fell into the habit of commuting with New York.

It was the war, I think, which made me so restless. It seemed to me that the night had not been well slept, nor the most promising day well begun until I had read the headlines in the papers. My hot wish to fight as a soldier had cooled. More and more I wanted to be of service, but in some way which seemed to me more imaginative and intelligent. But I could not hit on the way. I must go to Paris, I thought, then surely the inspiration of helpfulness would come. But I could not very well go to Paris until the year of probation was up. If Lucy still cared--well, it would be easy enough for me to care. I knew now that her physical presence was sufficient to make me care--at any given moment. "Oh," I thought, "I can't lose. Either I'll go to Paris and be useful, or I'll begin a new life with the girl I love who loves me."

Late in February Harry Colemain joined me at Palm Beach. He had wintered at Aiken, and I had all the Aiken news from him. The place had never been so full--people who usually went abroad, etc., etc.--some delightful new people, about all the old standbys. It was not a sporting winter. Most of the men were feeling too poor for high stakes. Would I believe it, the golf course was crowded all day? The new hotel? It looked as if it was going to be a success. The clubs were having the biggest year in their history. The golf club would be able to reset the green with Bermuda gra.s.s. Some of the holes had come through the summer splendidly. Some were better than they ever had been, others were worse, etc., etc.

I asked him about this and about that. At last I said: "How are the Fultons?"

"Well, John comes and goes. He seems to have gotten back his health.

The kids are fine . . . of course they are not what they _were_ as a family. That's obvious. But Lucy seems to have come to her senses.

She was very gay at first. Then she went round looking--well, she looked frightened. Lots of people noticed it. It was as if the doctor had told her she had lung trouble. She quit riding and dropped out of everything--except very quiet little dinners. Then she got very interested in her yard, and had experts over from Berckman's and did a lot of new planting . . ."

"But why did she look frightened? There wasn't anything the matter, was there?"

"Well, you know the trouble she made for John, wouldn't be his wife and all that? Well, he seems to have won her round to his way of looking at compromise--or she got more or less fond of him again. I don't know."

"I don't quite understand what you're driving at."

"You _don't_? Why, she's to have a baby. And everybody who knew there had been trouble says, 'Thank G.o.d for that.'"

My hands began to tremble so that I had to hide them under the table at which we were sitting.

"Bully, isn't it?" said Harry; fortunately he had turned his head to look at two very lovely young women who had strolled into the palm garden.

"Bully," I said.

"See those two, Archie?" he said in a guarded voice.

"Sure I see them."