Then, one night, tragedy came to the little house of mercy.

XX

Harvey proceeded to put his plan into effect at once, with the simple method of an essentially simple nature.  The thing had become intolerable; therefore it must end.

On the afternoon following his talk with Belle he came home at three o’clock.  Belle heard him moving about in his room, and when she entered it, after he had gone, she found that he had shaved and put on his best suit.

She smiled a little.  It was like Harvey to be literal.  He had said he was going to go round and have a good time, and he was losing no time.  But in their restricted social life, where most of the men worked until five o’clock or even later, there were fewer afternoon calls paid.  Belle wondered with mild sisterly curiosity into what arena Harvey was about to fling his best hat.

But though Harvey paid a call that afternoon it was not on any of the young women he knew.  He went to see Mrs. Gregory.  She was at home—­he had arranged for that by telephone—­and the one butler of the neighborhood admitted him.  It was a truculent young man, for all his politeness, who confronted Mrs. Gregory in her drawing-room—­a quietly truculent young man, who came to the point while he was still shaking hands.

“You’re not going to be glad to see me in a minute,” he said in reply to her greeting.

“How can you know that?”

“Because I’ve come to get you to do something you won’t want to do.”

“We won’t quarrel before we begin, then,” she said pleasantly.  “Because I really never do anything I don’t wish to do.”

But she gave him a second glance and her smile became a trifle forced.  She knew all about Harvey and Sara Lee.  She had heard rumors of his disapproval also.  Though she was not a clever nor a very keen woman, she saw what was coming and braced herself for it.

Harvey had prepared in his mind a summary of his position, and he delivered it with the rapidity and strength of a blow.

“I know all about the Belgians, Mrs. Gregory,” he said.  “I’m sorry for them.  So is every one, I suppose.  But I want to know if you think a girl of twenty ought to be over there practically at the Front, and alone?” He gave her time to reply.  “Would you like to have your daughter there, if you had one?”

“Perhaps not, under ordinary circumstances.  But this is war.”

“It is not our war.”

“Humanity,” said Mrs. Gregory, remembering the phrase she had written for a speech—­“humanity has no nationality.  It is of all men, for all men.”

“That’s men.  Not women!”

He got up and stood on the hearthrug.  He was singularly reminiscent of the time he had stood on Aunt Harriet’s white fur rug and had told Sara Lee she could not go.

“Now see here, Mrs. Gregory,” he said, “we’ll stop beating about the bush, if you don’t mind.  She’s got to come home.  She’s coming, if I have to go and get her!”