come home to him that she was always going to bore him. But he was ashamed to think of that now, and went on more patiently: “You see, the situation is rather different from anything we’ve known before; and, after all, in 1870 all the wise people thought till the last minute that there would be no war.”

Her delicate face seemed to shrink and wither with apprehension.

“Then—what about George?” she asked, the paint coming out about her haggard eyes.

Campton paused a moment. “You may suppose I’ve thought of that.”

18“Oh, of course....” He saw she was honestly trying to be what a mother should be in talking of her only child to that child’s father. But the long habit of superficiality made her stammering and inarticulate when her one deep feeling tried to rise to the surface.

18

Campton seated himself again, taking care to choose a straight-backed chair. “I see nothing to worry about with regard to George,” he said.

“You mean——?”

“Why, they won’t take him—they won’t want him ... with his medical record.”

“Are you sure? He’s so much stronger.... He’s gained twenty pounds....” It was terrible, really, to hear her avow it in a reluctant whisper! That was the view that war made mothers take of the chief blessing they could ask for their children! Campton understood her, and took the same view. George’s wonderful recovery, the one joy his parents had shared in the last twenty years, was now a misfortune to be denied and dissembled. They looked at each other like accomplices, the same thought in their eyes: if only the boy had been born in America! It was grotesque that the whole of joy or anguish should suddenly be found to hang on a geographical accident.

“After all, we’re Americans; this is not our job—” Campton began.

“No—” He saw she was waiting, and knew for what.

“So of course—if there were any trouble—but there 19won’t be; if there were, though, I shouldn’t hesitate to do what was necessary ... use any influence....”

19

“Oh, then we agree!” broke from her in a cry of wonder.

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