But he did not wait for a reply.  He did not seem to want one.  He picked up her bag, and guiding her by the elbow, piloted her through the crowd.

“A lot of folks wanted to come and meet you,” he said, “but I steered them off.  You’d have thought Roosevelt was coming to town the way they’ve been calling up.”

“To meet me?”

“I expect the Ladies’ Aid Society wanted to get into the papers again,” he said rather grimly.  “They are merry little advertisers, all right.”

“I don’t think that, Harvey.”

“Well, I do,” he said, and brought her to a stop facing a smart little car, very new, very gay.

“How do you like it?” he asked.

“Like it?  Why, it’s not yours, is it?”

“Surest thing you know.  Or, rather, it’s ours.  Had a few war babies, and they grew up.”

Sara Lee looked at it, and for just an instant, a rather sickening instant, she saw Henri’s shattered low car, battle-scarred and broken.

“It’s—­lovely,” said Sara Lee.  And Harvey found no fault with her tone.

Sara Lee had intended to go to Anna’s, for a time at least.  But she found that Belle was expecting her and would not take no.

“She’s moved the baby in with the others,” Harvey explained as he took the wheel.  “Wait until you see your room.  I knew we’d be buying furniture soon, so I fixed it up.”

He said nothing for a time.  He was new to driving a car, and the traffic engrossed him.  But when they had reached a quieter neighborhood he put a hand over hers.

“Good God, how I’ve been hungry for you!” he said.  “I guess I was pretty nearly crazy sometimes.”  He glanced at her apprehensively, but if she knew his connection with her recall she showed no resentment.  As a matter of fact there was in his voice something that reminded her of Henri, the same deeper note, almost husky.

She was, indeed, asking herself very earnestly what was there in her of all people that should make two men care for her as both Henri and Harvey cared.  In the humility of all modest women she was bewildered.  It made her rather silent and a little sad.  She was so far from being what they thought her.

Harvey, stealing a moment from the car to glance at her, saw something baffling in her face.

“Do you still care, Sara Lee?” he asked almost diffidently.  “As much as ever?”

“I have come back to you,” she said after an imperceptible pause.

“Well, I guess that’s the answer.”

He drew a deep satisfied breath.  “I used to think of you over there, and all those foreigners in uniform strutting about, and it almost got me, some times.”

And again, as long before, he read into her passivity his own passion, and was deeply content.

Belle was waiting on the small front porch.  There was an anxious frown on her face, and she looked first, not at Sara Lee, but at Harvey.  What she saw there evidently satisfied her, for the frown disappeared.  She kissed Sara Lee impulsively.