"Would you have thought of these?" he demanded triumphantly. "You--you

think only of soup and tired soldiers. Some one must think of you."

And there was a touch of tenderness in his voice. Sara Lee felt it and

trembled slightly. He was so fine, and he must not think of her that

way. It was not real. It couldn't be. Men were lonely here, where

everything was hard and cruel. They wanted some of the softness of life,

and all of kindness and sweetness that she could give should be Henri's.

But she must make it clear that there could never be anything more.

There was a tightness about her mouth as she folded the white frock.

"I know that garment," he said boyishly. "Do you remember the night you

wore it? And how we wandered in the square and made the plan that has

brought us together again?"

Sara Lee reached down into her suitcase and brought up Harvey's picture.

"I would like you to see this," she said a little breathlessly. "It is

the man I am to marry."

For a moment she thought Henri was not going to take it. But he came,

rather slowly, and held out his hand for it. He went with it to the

window and stood there for some time looking down at it.

"When are you going to marry him, mademoiselle?"

"As soon as I go back."

Sara Lee had expected some other comment, but he made none. He put the

photograph very quietly on the bed before her, and gathered up the linen

and the pillow in his arms.

"I shall send for your luggage, mademoiselle. And you will find me at

the car outside, waiting."

And so it was that a very silent Henri sat with Jean going out to that

strange land which was to be Sara Lee's home for many months. And a

very silent Sara Lee, flanked with pillow and blankets, who sat back

alone and tried to recall the tones of Harvey's voice.

And failed.




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