They both laughed. A pleasant steam arose from the tall glass at his
elbow.

"Well," she said, "I have to change my gown--"

"Good Lord! Are we going now?" he remonstrated.

"Yes. I don't believe there will be a soul on the streets."

"But I don't wish to go at all," he explained. "I'm very happy here,
discussing things."

"I know it. But you wouldn't let me go all alone, would you, Mr.
Vaux?"

"I don't want you to go anywhere."

"But I'm GOING!"

"Here's where I perish," groaned Vaux, rising as the girl passed him
with her pretty, humorous smile, moving lithely, swiftly as some
graceful wild thing passing confidently through its own domain.

Vaux gazed meditatively upon the coals, glass in one hand, cigarette
in the other. Patriotism is a tough career.

"This is worse than inhuman," he thought. "If I go out on such an
errand to-night I sure am doing my bitter bit. ... Probably some
policeman will shoot me--unless I freeze to death. This is a vastly