Ralph shook his head. "Not a word. And he's beginning to stay away
from things. You see, he knows that people are asking questions, and
you hear what they are calling him?"

"Yes," said Jean, "a coward."

"Well, not exactly that--"

"There isn't much difference, is there?"

And now Alma's cool voice summed up the situation. "A man with as much
money as that doesn't have to be brave. What does he care about public
opinion? After the war everybody will forgive and forget."

Coolly she challenged them to contradict her. "You all know it. How
many of you would dare cut the fellow who will inherit his father's
millions?"

Mrs. Witherspoon tried to laugh it off; but it was true, and Alma was
right. They might talk about Derry Drake behind his back, but they'd
never omit sending a card to him.

Jean ate her duckling in flaming silence, ate her salad, ate her ice,
drank her coffee, and was glad when the meal ended.

The war from the beginning had been for her a sacred cause. She had
yearned to be a man that she might stand in the forefront of battle.
She had envied the women of Russia who had formed a Battalion of Death.
Her father had laughed at her. "You'd be like a white kitten in a dog