And she had cried, "Oh, Dad, Dad," and had wept in his arms. But she

had not told him that she was Barry's wife. It was because of Barry's

going, she had admitted; it seemed as if her heart would break.

The General talked the situation over with Mary. "How will she stand

it, when he is really gone?"

"It will be better when the parting is over, and she settles down to

other things."

Yet that day, after the christening, Mary wondered if what she had said

was true. What would life hold for Leila when Barry was gone?

Her own life without Roger Poole was blank. Reluctantly, she was

forced to admit it. Constance, the baby, Porter, these were the

shadows, Roger was the substance.

The letters which had passed between them had shown her depths in him

which had hitherto been unrevealed. Comparing him with Porter Bigelow,

she realized that Porter could never say the things which Roger said;

he could not think them.

And while in the eyes of the world Roger was a defeated man, and Porter

a successful one, yet there was this to think of, that Porter's

qualities were negative rather than positive. With all of his

opportunities, he was narrowing his life to the pursuit of pleasure and

his love for her. Roger had shirked responsibility toward his fellow

man by withdrawal; Porter was shirking by indifference.

So she found herself, as many another woman has found herself, fighting

the battle of the less fortunate. Roger wanted her, yet pressed no

claim. Porter wanted her and meant to have her.

He had shown of late his impatience at the restraint which she had put

upon him. He had encroached more and more upon her time--demanded more

and more. He had been kept from saying the things which she did not

want him to say only by the fact that she would not listen.

She knew that he was expecting things which could never be--and that by

her silence she was giving sanction to his expectations. Yet she found

herself dreading to say the final word which would send him from her.

The friendship between a man and a woman has this poignant quality--it

has no assurance of permanence. For, if either marries, the other must

suffer loss; if either loves, the other must put away that which may

have become a prized association. As her friend, Mary valued Porter

highly. She had known him all her life. Yet she was aware that she

was taking all and returning nothing; and surely Porter had the right

to ask of life something more than that.




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