Dangerous Days

She was with a man in uniform, a young man, gay and smiling. He was

paying her evident court, in a debonair fashion, bending toward her

across the table. Suddenly Clayton was jealous, fiercely jealous.

The jealousy of the young is sad enough, but it is an ephemeral thing.

Life calls from many directions. There is always the future, and the

things of the future. And behind it there is the buoyancy and easy

forgetfulness of youth. But the jealousy of later years knows no such

relief. It sees time flying and happiness evading it. It has not

the easy self-confidence of the twenties. It has learned, too, that

happiness is a rare elusive thing, to be held and nursed and clung to,

and that even love must be won and held.

It has learned that love must be free, but its instinct is to hold it

with chains.

He suffered acutely, and was ashamed of his suffering. After all,

Audrey was still young. Life had not been kind to her, and she should be

allowed to have such happiness as she could. He could offer her nothing.

He would give her up. He had already given her up. She knew it.

Then she saw him, and his determination died under the light that

came in her eyes. Give her up! How could he give her up, when she was

everything he had in the world? With a shock, he recognized in the

thought Natalie's constant repetition as to Graham. So he had come to

that!

He felt Audrey's eyes on him, but he did not go to her. He signed his

check, and went out. He fully meant to go away without seeing her. But

outside he hesitated. That would hurt her, and it was cowardly. When, a

few moments later, she came out, followed by the officer, it was to find

him there, obviously waiting.

"I wondered if you would dare to run away!" she said. "This is Captain

Sloane, Clay, and he knows a lot about you."

Close inspection showed Sloane handsome, bronzed, and with a soft

Southern voice, somewhat like Audrey's. And it developed that he

came from her home, and was on his way to one of the early camps. He

obviously intended to hold on to Audrey, and Clayton left them there

with the feeling that Audrey's eyes were following him, wistful and full

of trouble. He had not even asked her where she was stopping.

He took a long walk that afternoon, and re-made his noon-hour

resolution. He would keep away from her. It might hurt her at first,

but she was young. She would forget. And he must not stand in her way.

Having done which, he returned to the Shoreham and spent an hour in a

telephone booth, calling hotels systematically and inquiring for her.