Chapter XVIII

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

　　As the spring advanced Harvey grew increasingly bitter; grew morbidand increasingly self-conscious also. He began to think that people weresmiling behind his back, and when they asked about Sara Lee he met withalmost insulting brevity what he felt was half-contemptuous kindness.He went nowhere, and worked all day and until late in the night. He didwell in his business, however, and late in March he received asubstantial raise in salary. He took it without enthusiasm, and toldBelle that night at dinner with apathy.

　　After the evening meal it was now his custom to go to his room and there,shut in, to read. He read no books on the war, and even the quartercolumn entitled Salient Points of the Day's War News hardly received aglance from him now.

　　In the office when the talk turned to the war, as it did almost hourly,he would go out or scowl over his letters.

　　"Harvey's hit hard," they said there.

　　"He's acting like a rotten cub," was likely to be the next sentence.But sometimes it was: "Well, what'd you expect? Everything ready to getmarried, and the girl beating it for France without notice! I'd be soremyself."

　　On the day of the raise in salary his sister got the children to bed andstraightened up the litter of small garments that seemed always tobestrew the house, even to the lower floor. Then she went into Harvey'sroom. Coat and collar off, he was lying on the bed, but not reading.His book lay beside him, and with his arms under his head he was staringat the ceiling.

　　She did not sit down beside him on the bed. They were an undemonstrativefamily, and such endearments as Belle used were lavished on her children.But her eyes were kind, and a little nervous.

　　"Do you mind talking a little, Harvey?"

　　"I don't feel like talking much. I'm tired, I guess. But go on. Whatis it? Bills?"

　　She came to him in her constant financial anxieties, and always he wasready to help her out. But his tone now was gruff. A slight flush ofresentment colored her cheeks.

　　"Not this time, Harve. I was just thinking about things."

　　"Sit down."

　　She sat on the straight chair beside the bed, the chair on which, inneat order, Harvey placed his clothing at night, his shoes beneath, hiscoat over the back.

　　"I wish you'd go out more, Harvey."

　　"Why? Go out and talk to a lot of driveling fools who don't care for meany more than I do for them?"

　　"That's not like you, Harve."

　　"Sorry." His tone softened. "I don't care much about going round,Belle. That's all. I guess you know why."

　　"So does everybody else."

　　He sat up and looked at her.

　　"Well, suppose they do? I can't help that, can I? When a fellow hasbeen jilted—"

　　"You haven't been jilted."

　　He lay down again, his arms under his head; and Belle knew that his eyeswere on Sara Lee's picture on his dresser.

　　"It amounts to the same thing."

　　"Harvey," Belle said hesitatingly, "I've brought Sara Lee's report fromthe Ladies' Aid. May I read it to you?"

　　"I don't want to hear it." Then: "Give it here. I'll look at it."

　　He read it carefully, his hands rather unsteady. So many men given soup,so many given chocolate. So many dressings done. And at the bottomSara Lee's request for more money—an apologetic, rather breathlessrequest, and closing, rather primly with this:

　　"I am sure that the society will feel, from the above report, that thework is worth while, and worth continuing. I am only sorry that Icannot send photographs of the men who come for aid, but as they comeat night it is impossible. I enclose, however, a small picture of thehouse, which is now known as the little house of mercy."

　　"At night!" said Harvey. "So she's there alone with a lot of ignorantforeigners at night. Why the devil don't they come in the daytime?"

　　"Here's the picture, Harvey."

　　He got up then, and carried the tiny photograph over close to the gasjet. There he stood for a long time, gazing at it. There was Renéwith his rifle and his smile. There was Marie in her white apron. Andin the center, the wind blowing her soft hair, was Sara Lee.

　　Harvey groaned and Belle came over and putting her hand on his shoulderlooked at the photograph with him.

　　"Do you know what I think, Harvey?" she said. "I think Sara Lee is rightand you are wrong."

　　He turned on her almost savagely.

　　"That's not the point!" he snapped out. "I don't begrudge the poordevils their soup. What I feel is this: If she'd cared a tinker's damnfor me she'd never have gone. That's all."

　　He returned to a moody survey of the picture.

　　"Look at it!" he said. "She insists that she's safe. But that fellow'sgot a gun. What for, if she's so safe? And look at that house! There'sa corner shot away; and it's got no upper floor. Safe!"

　　Belle held out her hand.

　　"I must return the picture to the society, Harve."

　　"Not just yet," he said ominously. "I want to look at it. I haven'tgot it all yet. And I'll return it myself—with a short speech."

　　"Harvey!"

　　"Well," he retorted, "why shouldn't I tell that lot of oldscandalmongers what I think of them? They'll sit here safe at home andbeg money—God, one of them was in the office to-day!—and send a younggirl over to—You'd better get out, Belle. I'm not company for any oneto-night."

　　She turned away, but he came after her, and suddenly putting his armsround her he kissed her.

　　"Don't worry about me," he said. "I'm done with wearing my heart on mysleeve. She looks happy, so I guess I can be." He released her. "Goodnight. I'll return the picture."

　　He sat up very late, alternately reading the report and looking at thepicture. It was unfortunate that Sara Lee had smiled into the camera.Coupled with her blowing hair it had given her a light-heartedness, asort of joyousness, that hurt him to the soul.

　　He made some mad plans after he had turned out the lights—to flirtwildly with the unattached girls he knew; to go to France and confrontSara Lee and then bring her home. Or—He had found a way. He laythere and thought it over, and it bore the test of the broken sleep thatfollowed. In the morning, dressing, he wondered he had not thought ofit before. He was more cheerful at breakfast than he had been for weeks.