“Nina!”

“I am right!” she said, almost fiercely; “I’ve been married thirteen years and I’ve lost that fear of men’s portentous judgments which all girls outgrow one day.  And do you think I am going to acquiesce in this attitude of yours toward life?  Do you think I can’t distinguish between a tragical mistake and a mistaken tragedy?  I tell you your life is not finished; it is not yet begun!”

He looked at her, incensed; but she sprang to the floor, her face bright with colour, her eyes clear, determined:  “I thought, when you took the oath of military service, you swore to obey the laws of the land?  And the very first law that interferes with your preconceived notions—­crack!—­you say it’s not for you!  Look at me—­you great, big, wise brother of mine—­who knows enough to march a hundred and three men into battle, but not enough to know where pride begins and conscience ends.  You’re badly hurt; you are deeply humiliated over your resignation; you believe that ambition for a career, for happiness, for marriage, and for children is ended for you.  You need fresh air—­and I’m going to see you have it.  You need new duties, new faces, new scenes, new problems.  You shall have them.  Dear, believe me, few men as young as you—­as attractive, as human, as lovable, as affectionate as you, wilfully ruin their lives because of a hurt pride which they mistake for conscience.  You will understand that when you become convalescent.  Now kiss me and tell me you’re much obliged—­for I hear Austin’s voice on the stairs.”

He held her at arms’ length, gazing at her, half amused, half indignant; then, unbidden, a second flash of the old telepathy passed between them—­a pale glimmer lighted his own dark heart in sympathy; and for a moment he seemed to have a brief glimpse of the truth; and the truth was not as he had imagined it.  But it was a glimpse only—­a fleeting suspicion of his own fallibility; then it vanished into the old, dull, aching, obstinate humiliation.  For truth would not be truth if it were so easily discovered.

“Well, we’ve buried it now,” breathed Selwyn.  “You’re all right, Nina—­from your own standpoint—­and I’m not going to make a stalking nuisance of myself; no fear, little sister.  Hello!”—­turning swiftly—­“here’s that preposterous husband of yours.”

They exchanged a firm hand clasp; Austin Gerard, big, smooth shaven, humorously inclined toward the ruddy heaviness of successful middle age; Selwyn, lean, bronzed, erect, and direct in all the powerful symmetry and perfect health of a man within sight of maturity.

“Hail to the chief—­et cetera,” said Austin, in his large, bantering voice.  “Glad to see you home, my bolo-punctured soldier boy.  Welcome to our city!  I suppose you’ve both pockets stuffed with loot, now haven’t you?—­pearls and sarongs and dattos—­yes?  Have you inspected the kids?  What’s your opinion of the Gerard batallion?  Pretty fit?  Nina’s commanding, so it’s up to her if we don’t pass dress parade.  By the way, your enormous luggage is here—­consisting of one dinky trunk and a sword done up in chamois skin.”