had stood with hands clasped for quite a long time, and then Archie kissed her because he was rather tired of holding her hands, and because he enjoyed kissing anything so pretty. That had caused a break, and they sat down side by side, and Helena made some queer movements in her throat, which seemed to Archie to be designed to convey the impression that she was repressing her emotion. But they did not quite fulfil their design; they looked rather as if they were due to the desire to pump up rather than keep down. Then Helena gave a long sigh.
"Oh, Archie," she said, "I am utterly broken-hearted. It was so sudden, so terribly sudden. I shall never get over it. Think! We had been married only a fortnight, and next day I got a letter from him, after I knew he was dead. Such a sweet little letter, so cheerful and so loving."
Archie expected something of this sort: its conventionality, its utter insincerity, amused him enormously. And, wanting more of it, he said just the proper sort of thing to encourage her to give it him.
"Oh, my dear," he said, "but how you will love and cherish that letter! I don't suppose you were once out of his thoughts all the time he was in France."
She shook her head.
"I am sure of it," she said. "Ah, what a privilege to have been loved as I was loved by such a noble, manly heart. I must always think of that, mustn't I?"
Archie took her hand again. The touch of those soft, cool fingers gave him pleasure; so, too, did the answering pressure of them.
"Yes, indeed," he said. "And you must remember, too, that it's 'better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.'"
She repeated the quotation in a dreamy meditative voice.
"Yes, that is so true: it does me good to think of
