side smirking or bashful girls. Sometimes the
girls laughed, but not frequently. And the change
grasped one tighter than ever because of this
pursuit of romance, almost reluctant and a little
appalled, through the turmoil of a dreadful reality.
We hurried on. Utter darkness caught us in the main street. We crept the few remaining yards to the hotel we had chosen. A dining-room, brown and black with khaki and the usual soberly dressed women, greeted us. The proprietor was regretful. We could have dinner but no room. As we ate, our feeling of intrusion increased. These women, it was clear, had left their homes to live in an uncomfortable hotel in order that they might be with their husbands, their sons, or their brothers until the order should be given, until this cantonment should break up, until these officers should leave for Flanders to face the chances of which the newspapers with thoughtless cruelty perpetually reminded them. From their bearing you caught their appraisal of each day's value. There was little laughter. The murmuring voices created a monotone, full of misgivings, pitifully abashed.
It was a relief to go forth with a guide to seek a lodging. Just across a stone bridge we found it in a small, quaint hotel. This, too, was
