He was a little bit disappointed. Evidently she did not depend on him

enough to tell him Chris's story. But again, she was being loyal to

Chris.

He told her about the mill, phrasing his explanation in the simplest

language; the presses drilling on white-hot metal; the great anvils; the

forge; the machine-shop, with its lathes, where the rough surfaces of

the shells were first rough-turned and then machined to the most exact

measurements. And finding her interested, he told her of England's

women workers, in their khaki-colored overalls and caps, and of the

convent-like silence and lack of movement in the filling-sheds, where

one entered with rubber-shod feet, and the women, silent and intent, sat

all day and all night, with queer veils over their faces, filling shells

with the death load.

Audrey listened, her hands clasped behind her head.

"If other women can do that sort of thing, why can't I, Clay?"

"Nonsense."

"But why? I'm intelligent."

"It's not work for a lady."

"Lady! How old-fashioned you are! There are no ladies any more. Just

women. And if we aren't measured by our usefulness instead of our

general not-worth-a-damn-ness, well, we ought to be. Oh, I've had time

to think, lately."

He was hardly listening. Seeing her, after all those weeks, had brought

him a wonderful feeling of peace. The little room, with its fire, was

cozy and inviting. But he was quite sure, looking down at her, that he

was not in danger of falling in love with her. There was no riot in him,

no faint stirring of the emotions of that hour with the mauve book.

There was no suspicion in him that the ways of love change with the

years, that the passions of the forties, when they come, are to those of

the early years as the deep sea to a shallow lake, less easily roused,

infinitely more terrible.

"This girl you spoke about, that was the business you mentioned?"

"Yes." She hesitated. "I could have asked you that over the telephone,

couldn't I? The plain truth is that I've had two bad months--never mind

why, and Christmas was coming, and--I just wanted to see your perfectly

sane and normal face again."

"I wish you'd let me know sooner where you were."

She evaded his eyes.

"I was getting settled, and studying, and learning to knit, and--oh, I'm

the most wretched knitter, Clay! I just stick at it doggedly. I say

to myself that hands that can play golf, and use a pen, and shoot, and

drive a car, have got to learn to knit. But look here!"




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