He went back to her rooms with her, and she made him tea, while he
built the fire in the open fireplace and nursed it tenderly to a healthy
strength. Overnursed it, she insisted. They were rather gay, indeed,
and the danger-point passed by safely. There was so much to discuss,
she pretended. The President's unfortunate phrase of "peace without
victory"; the deportation of the Belgians, the recent leak in Washington
to certain stock-brokers, and more and more imminent, the possibility of
a state of war being recognized by the government.
"If it comes," she said, gayly, "I shall go, of course. I shall go to
France and sing them into battle. My shorthand looks like a music score,
as it is. What will you do?"
"I can't let you outshine me," he said. "And I don't want to think of
your going over there without me. My dear! My dear!"
She ignored that, and gave him his tea, gravely.