fight, what kind of a world would it be? Women who were worth anything
girded their men for battle.

He knew now the reason for Jean's high head and burning cheeks, and in
spite of his sense of agonizing humiliation, he was glad to think of
that high-held head.

For such women, for such women men died!

But not for women like Alma Drew!

He got away from her as soon as possible. He got away from them all.
He had a morbid sense of whispering voices and of averted glances. He
fancied that Mrs. Witherspoon touched his hand coldly as he bade her
"good-night."

Well, he would not come again until he could meet their eyes.

It was a perfectly clear night, and he walked home. With his face
turned up to the stars, he told himself that the situation was
intolerable--tomorrow morning, he would go to his father.

When he reached home, his father was asleep. Derry looked in on him
and found Bronson sitting erect and wide-eyed beside a night lamp which
threw the rest of the room into a sort of golden darkness. The General
was in a great lacquered bed which he had brought with him years ago
from China. Gilded dragons guarded it and princes had slept in it.
Heavy breathing came from the bed.

"I think he has caught cold, sir," Bronson whispered. "I'm a bit