“You needn’t look at me so fiercely.  I didn’t send her.  It was her own idea.”

Harvey sneered.

“No,” he said slowly.  “But I notice your society publishes her reports in the papers, and that the names of the officers are rarely missing.”

Mrs. Gregory colored.

“We must have publicity to get money,” she said.  “It is hard to get.  Sometimes I have had to make up the deficit out of my own pocket.”

“Then for God’s sake bring her home!  If the thing has to go on, send over there some of the middle-aged women who have no ties.  Let ’em get shot if they want to.  They can write as good reports as she can, if that’s all you want.  And make as good soup,” he added bitterly.

“It could be done, of course,” she said, thoughtfully.  “But—­I must tell you this:  I doubt if an older woman could have got where she has.  There is no doubt that her charm, her youth and beauty have helped her greatly.  We cannot—­”

The very whites of his eyes turned red then.  He shouted furiously that for their silly work and their love of publicity, they were trading on a girl’s youth and beauty; that if anything happened to her he would publish the truth in every newspaper in the country; that they would at once recall Sara Lee or he would placard the city with what they were doing.  These were only a few of the things he threw at her.

When he was out of breath he jerked the picture of the little house of mercy out of his pocket and flung it into her lap.

“There!” he said.  “Do you know where that house is?  It’s in a ruined village.  She hasn’t said that, has she?  Well, look at the masonry there.  That’s a shell hole in the street.  That soldier’s got a gun.  Why?  Because the Germans may march up that street any day on their way to Calais.”

Mrs. Gregory looked at the picture.  Sara Lee smiled into the sun.  And Rene, ignorant that his single rifle was to oppose the march of the German Army to Calais—­Rene smiled also.

Mrs. Gregory rose.

“I shall report your view to the society,” she said coldly.  “I understand how you feel, but I fail to see the reason for this attack on me.”

“I guess you see all right!” he flung at her.  “She’s my future wife.  If you hadn’t put this nonsense into her head we’d be married now and she’d be here in God’s country and not living with a lot of foreigners who don’t know a good woman when they see one.  I want her back, that’s all.  But I want her back safe.  And if anything happens to her I’ll make you pay—­you and all your notoriety hunters.”

He went out then, and was for leaving without his hat or coat, but the butler caught him at the door.  Out in the spring sunlight he walked rapidly, still seething, remembering other bitter things he had meant to say, and repeating them to himself.

But he had said enough.

Mrs. Gregory’s account of his visit she reported at a meeting specially called.  The narrative lost nothing in the repetition.  But the kindly women who sat in the church house sewing or knitting listened to what Harvey had said and looked troubled.  They liked Sara Lee, and many of them had daughters of their own.