The Two Saplings. Mazo de la Roche

good.”

      “It’s very warm here. Could we have a window open?”

      “It will let the noise and dust in. But, of course, if you want it open——” She moved slowly toward a window.

      “Never mind. I’ll take off my coat.” She took it off, showing the strong supple lines of her body in its silk blouse, and hung it carefully over the back of a chair. Then she lay down, pushing the pillow under her cheek and drawing up her long legs.

      Camilla thought,—“And twenty-four hours ago I’d never seen her! And she is Palmer’s mother!”

      The time would pass quicker, she thought, if she were by herself. There was nothing about Phyllis she could understand and every moment spent with her was an effort. She went to her bedroom and sat down by a table where she would get the scent of a nosegay of spring flowers Robert had bought her. She lighted a cigarette.

      Sinking back in her chair she recaptured that strange moment in the nursing home when the two-days-old Palmer had felt an alien in her arms. If only she had followed up this animal instinct what misery might have been spared them all! But she had denied it—pushed it from her. Now they had to face a possible agonizing upheaval. Her eager brain sought means of mitigating its pain. No one could say, she thought through sudden tears, that she did not render up herself to life and whatever it brought of change and cruelty. It was a part of her philosophy to give herself and give herself again—not counting the cost. It was strange, she thought, how she had this power of living outside herself, watching her own gestures in the performance of life, as an observer. One thing it did was to make it possible for her to keep her head where others were flustered. Twice she tiptoed into the other room and saw that Phyllis Rendel slept, her back hunched toward the light, one hand covering her face.

      She grew hungry and ordered chicken sandwiches and coffee for the two of them, but Phyllis did not wake and Camilla ate her share in her bedroom alone. She drank three cups of coffee, then she put on a little powder and lipstick and tried to read the morning paper. The headlines told of the renewed threat of war but she could not settle down to read, not at such a crisis in her own life. Suddenly she became unbearably anxious. Her heart began to thud. Surely the men would come soon, or telephone!

      Soon they came, entering the outer room quietly, with masculine deliberation. She hurried to meet them. Both were looking at Phyllis, asleep on the divan. She beckoned them and took them into her room.

      “It would be cruel to wake her,” she whispered. “She has such a headache.”

      She closed the door softly. It was strange having Captain Rendel here, in these intimate surroundings, when a few hours ago he had been a stranger. He sat down on the window-sill and crossed his legs. He looked composed but she could feel that he was shaken. It was Robert who spoke.

      “Well,” he said, “we’ve seen Nurse Jennings.” Camilla breathed,—“Yes? And does she remember anything?”