had the uncomfortable sensation of feeling herself shut out and useless.

"By the way," said Gerald, "there's one thing. I have to keep her
jollying along all the time, so for goodness' sake don't go letting it
out that we're engaged."

Sally's chin went up with a jerk. This was too much.

"If you find it a handicap being engaged to me..."

"Don't be silly." Gerald took refuge in pathos. "Good God! It's tough!
Here am I, worried to death, and you..."

Before he could finish the sentence, Sally's mood had undergone one of
those swift changes which sometimes made her feel that she must be
lacking in character. A simple, comforting thought had come to her,
altering her entire outlook. She had come off the train tired and
gritty, and what seemed the general out-of-jointness of the world was
entirely due, she decided, to the fact that she had not had a bath and
that her hair was all anyhow. She felt suddenly tranquil. If it was
merely her grubby and dishevelled condition that made Gerald seem to her
so different, all was well. She put her hand on his with a quick gesture
of penitence.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I've been a brute, but I do sympathize,
really."

"I've had an awful time," mumbled Gerald.

"I know, I know. But you never told me you were glad to see me."