"It didn't look like gratitude to me," returned Morrison.

"Well, it was gratitude," declared Carley, ringingly. "If women of

America did throw themselves at soldiers it was not owing to the moral

lapse of the day. It was woman's instinct to save the race! Always, in

every war, women have sacrificed themselves to the future. Not vile,

but noble!... You insult both soldiers and women, Mr. Morrison. I

wonder--did any American girls throw themselves at you?"

Morrison turned a dead white, and his mouth twisted to a distorted

checking of speech, disagreeable to see.

"No, you were a slacker," went on Carley, with scathing scorn. "You let

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the other men go fight for American girls. Do you imagine one of them

will ever marry you?... All your life, Mr. Morrison, you will be a

marked man--outside the pale of friendship with real American men and

the respect of real American girls."

Morrison leaped up, almost knocking the table over, and he glared at

Carley as he gathered up his hat and cane. She turned her back upon him.

From that moment he ceased to exist for Carley. She never spoke to him

again.

Next day Carley called upon her dearest friend, whom she had not seen

for some time.

"Carley dear, you don't look so very well," said Eleanor, after

greetings had been exchanged.

"Oh, what does it matter how I look?" queried Carley, impatiently.

"You were so wonderful when you got home from Arizona."

"If I was wonderful and am now commonplace you can thank your old New

York for it."

"Carley, don't you care for New York any more?" asked Eleanor.

"Oh, New York is all right, I suppose. It's I who am wrong."

"My dear, you puzzle me these days. You've changed. I'm sorry. I'm

afraid you're unhappy."

"Me? Oh, impossible! I'm in a seventh heaven," replied Carley, with

a hard little laugh. "What 're you doing this afternoon? Let's go

out--riding--or somewhere."

"I'm expecting the dressmaker."

"Where are you going to-night?"

"Dinner and theater. It's a party, or I'd ask you."

"What did you do yesterday and the day before, and the days before

that?"

Eleanor laughed indulgently, and acquainted Carley with a record of her

social wanderings during the last few days.

"The same old things--over and over again! Eleanor don't you get sick of

it?" queried Carley.

"Oh yes, to tell the truth," returned Eleanor, thoughtfully. "But

there's nothing else to do."




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